


the care and keeping of your super huge, very hairy best friend

by againstmygreeleaf



Series: full moon mode [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Animal Death, Attempt at Humor, Awkwardness, Blood, College, Crack, Dog Jokes, Drinking, Fluff, Gen, Mild Gore, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Misunderstandings, Nudity, Platonic Cuddling, Sickfic, Slice of Life, This Is STUPID, Vomiting, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-04-28 22:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14459040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/againstmygreeleaf/pseuds/againstmygreeleaf
Summary: The one where Hunk is a werewolf and Lance tries his best.Everyone does, really.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guess what I did instead of finishing a different fic I started over a year ago? True to my patterns, I just started this new one instead. 
> 
> Fair warning, there's gonna be some depiction of gore. As in, Hunk hunts and eats like a wild animal. But most of this is lighthearted so I don't think there's much else to warn for. I guess inevitably I'll toss in some general violence and mild whump because it's me and I like violence and whump, but nothing extensive. Really, this is going to be mostly lighthearted. 
> 
> Also, I'm posting it chapter by chapter this time, instead of fully finished as I tend to do. Why? Just in the mood to try something new.
> 
> How many chapters? I don't know, but it won't matter much because this isn't plot driven. Just lighthearted werewolf antics and what have you. 
> 
> Tried to get all the tags out of the way, but if something new comes along, I'll add accordingly.

Lance is in the middle of browsing the toy store for potential gifts for his niece’s birthday when his phone chimes with the spaceship-themed ringtone. Pidge. Lance slips it out of his pocket and answers.

“Sup?”

There’s no greeting. For a moment he thinks she butt-dialed him and then the breathy hitch of a sob carries over the line. His blood immediately runs cold.

“Pidge? What’s wrong?”

“Holy shit,” she gasps. “Lance, oh my god!”

He sprints toward the exit, cocking his head to his shoulder to keep the phone in place while he fumbles through his pockets for his keys.

“Where are you?”

“Your place, I think,” she quavers with distress. “Unless I’m having a nightmare or someone slipped me acid, or something, I can’t believe this is happening…”

“What is happening!?” Lance demands, the sparse group of other shoppers here this late shooting him looks as he charges out the automatic doors.

“There’s a monster in your living room,” she babbles. “I came over to work on my project with Hunk— Oh god, Hunk! Lance, I think it ate him! His clothes are shredded on the floor, even his headband! There’s blood all over the kitchen, I almost slipped in it running to your closet.”

Lance freezes, absorbing what she’s said. He glances up to the night sky and curses.

“Aw, crap. I forgot about the stupid blue moon.”

“W-What?” she stammers.

Lance jogs to his car, sighing heavily.

“You’re in my closet?”

“Yeah. I don’t think the monster knows I’m here but it didn’t leave, I can hear it going nuts! I called the police first but they thought it was a prank, Lance, I don’t know what to do!”

“Calm down, Pidge,” Lance soothes in a gentle, reassuring tone. “You’re not in any danger, I promise. Just stay in the closet until I get there.”

“Are you not listening!?” she hisses sharply. “It ate Hunk! It’s huge! One slice of that thing’s claws and I’ll be sashimi!”

“I know you’re scared,” he tells her patiently. “But I can promise you two things: you’re totally safe and Hunk isn’t dead.”

There’s a pause where all he can hear is her rapid panting on the other end of the line.

“Promise?”

“Yes. You’re okay, Pidge. Can I hang up so I can come over?”

“…do you know what’s going on?”

“Yep. I’ll explain everything when I get there.”

“I swear, if that thing kills me I’m gonna haunt you forever.”

Lance smirks and slides into the driver’s seat. “Just hold tight, I’ll break a few speed limits.”

“Break them all,” Pidge mumbles and hangs up.

* * *

Lance jogs up the steps to his and Hunk’s shared trailer, hastily unlocking the door and rushing in to survey the damage.

The refrigerator’s been ransacked. It lies empty on the linoleum, the door ripped clean off and shelves broken inside. Bloody paw prints make it quickly known where all the meat’s gone and Lance is aggravated because it wasn’t cheap and it was supposed to last, damn it.

It’s partly his fault though, he forgot all about the blue moon. Apparently Hunk did too, because his favorite jeans have been rendered strips that Lance steps on as he winds around the counter.

The beast himself is in the middle of the living room, destroying the futon. Jagged claw marks drag across the hardwood floor and the styrofoam beans that filled Lance’s favorite beanbag decorate the room like fresh snowfall. Hunk either hasn’t noticed he’s back yet, or else he’s too busy tearing up the futon to care.

Stuffing sails through the air as he rips piece after piece off the back of it, metal springs grinding under the weight of his front paws braced on the bottom padding. Lance groans and rubs at his temples.

The futon will be salvageable if he can stop him in the next two minutes or so. No way they can replace the floor, they’re just going to have to get a rug. Maybe the fridge will be okay if Hunk can put the door back on once he’s a person again.

Lance doesn’t blame Pidge for freaking out. Hunk is pretty scary looking when he’s transformed. Normal wolves are already pretty big, and Hunk dwarfs those. Lance could fit his head in his mouth and he’s too tall to fit through the doorway when he draws himself up on his hinds.

Which, he can do. Hunk mostly runs around on all fours when he’s like this, but he’s built for bipedalism, shaped like something that’s more wolf than human, but more beast than both. The set and breadth of his shoulders are closer to human shape, most evident when Hunk is standing on two. While Lance wouldn’t consider them fingers, the elongated toes of his front paws have this moderate dexterity that animals don’t possess. His dewclaw can grip.

His head is all wolf, completely unrecognizable from his human face. He’s got a long, narrow muzzle and his canines always jut over his bottom jaw. His eyes are yellowy orange as autumn leaves when he’s like this, strikingly animal. That bludgeon of a tail is all wolf too, fluffy as cotton candy but a hazard when it’s wagging.

Those claws are pure beast— maybe even monster, as Pidge had called him. They’re thicker than Lance’s thumbs and razor sharp, easily tearing through the laminated hardwood of the floor like tissue paper. He’s boxy and beefy with robust musculature, the obscene strength he possesses definitely bordering on monstrous, even if Lance never, ever wants to call him that.

Hunk isn’t really a monster. He’s not vicious or mindless. He may look scary, but he isn’t actually scary. Not once you get used to it.

“No,” Lance orders, loud and clear.

Hunk pauses, swinging his head to give Lance an unabashedly indignant look before he immediately goes back to killing the futon.

Scary? No.

Stubborn? Yes.

Lance gets the spray bottle out of the cupboard. He marches into the living room and squirts Hunk in the back of the neck.

“No! That is not a chew toy!”

Hunk snorts and backs off the furniture, petulantly plopping down on the massacred floor.

Lance affectionately scratches him between the ears. Hunk returns the gesture with the slurp of a fat pink tongue, bathing Lance’s face in werewolf saliva.

“What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

Hunk just blinks at him, that weapon of a tail briefly thumping up and down.

“No, I’m not mad,” he says even though he’s aware that Hunk doesn’t exactly understand words when he’s like this. “We both forgot. And hey, at least you didn’t break out.”

Hunk is a behemoth fully capable of ripping a whole in the trailer if he so pleases. If Lance has to replace his beanbag and get a rug for the floor, it’s a much smaller price to pay than having to either explain or repair a gaping whole in the wall.

Lance gives him one more pat on the head and then flashes him a hand signal to stay so he can go get Pidge. His stubborn friend tries to follow anyway and it takes another squirt from the bottle to get him to stay put.

Lance heads down the short hallway and ducks into his bedroom. He opens his closet to find Pidge curled in a fetal position, wide-eyed and pale.

“Hey,” he says, crouching down across from her. “How you doing?”

“You were talking to that thing?” she quizzes, her features screwed up in disbelief.

“Well, yeah. He’s not a thing, Pidge. There’s no monster, that’s just Hunk.”

Pidge gawks at him like he’s sprouted a second head.

Lance sheepishly rubs at the nape of his neck. “He was gonna tell you…it just never came up.”

“But how?” she blurts.

“Come on.” Lance takes her hand and pulls her to her feet.

Her curiosity wins out over her fear, at least until they walk past the kitchen. She goes rigid as she looks over the bloody smears and paw prints on the floor, audibly gulping.

“That’s just from regular packaged meat,” Lance tells her. “It’s okay.”

Pidge peeks over his shoulder and takes a look at the werewolf sitting in the living room. Hunk notices her and perks with interest, rising on all fours. Pidge tenses but Lance gives him another signal to stay and she doesn’t dart for the door.

Lance leads her into the living room and the whole trailer trembles as Hunk’s tail begins beating the floor. He gives Pidge a big, sloppy slurp in the face, pushing her glasses up. She lets out a throaty squawk of surprise, but she doesn’t run.

“He recognizes you, I’m sure,” Lance beams. “He doesn’t think like a person when he’s like this, but he does remember things.”

“Okay, I believe it’s not going to kill me,” Pidge decides, taking off her glasses and uses her shirt to wipe off the slobber. “But just because it’s not going to kill me doesn’t mean it’s Hunk.”

“Why do you think we live in a trailer in the middle of the woods?”

“Uh, yeah.” Pidge puts her glasses back on and gestures around. “Why would Hunk wreak his own place?”

“I told you, he’s not thinking like a person right now. He’ll regret it in the morning. It’s kinda my fault too, I mean, I wasn’t here to let him out.” Lance kneels down and rubs up and down his currently beastly best friend’s back. “He got hungry. And bored.”

Pidge thoughtfully rubs her chin, studying Hunk with skeptical eyes.

“Down, boy,” Lance commands lightly.

Hunk gives him a downright obstinate look.

“You want a tummy rub?” he chirps instead.

Hunk brightens and rolls onto his back, legs in the air and tail swishing.

Lance scrubs his hands over his belly, back and fourth like he knows he likes.

“If this really is Hunk, that’s kind of weird.” Pidge wrinkles her nose.

“Eh, you get used to it. And I’m telling you, it’s Hunk. Look, here—“ Lance points to a narrow line of shiny skin where the fur doesn’t grow. “Remember when he got his appendix out?”

“Huh. Okay, that does look like his scar.” Pidge kneels down next to Lance. She tentatively reaches out and parts some of the surrounding fur to take a closer look.

“If this big ass animal wasn’t Hunk and it was some stranger in here, don’t you think I’d be freaking out?”

Pidge frowns and chews her lip. “If this is Hunk, it means I never even noticed. And it means that you guys have been keeping me out of the loop.”

Lance gives a guilty wince. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like?” Pidge’s eyes waver with hurt.

Lance sighs and continues rubbing Hunk’s belly, if only to keep him docile a bit longer.

“Ask him about it in the morning. It’s not my secret to talk about. If it were up to me, believe me, I would’ve told you a long time ago so we could watch him in split shifts.”

“Watch him?” Pidge tilts her head.

“So he doesn’t do this,” Lance gestures at the surrounding decimation of his home. “Every full moon, I have to babysit Hunk while he runs around the forest doing werewolf stuff.”

“Werewolf stuff?” Pidge raises a brow.

“He buries things, rolls in mud, pees on trees.” Lance shrugs. “He’s like a giant dog.”

And Hunk rolls back up into a sit. He bumps Pidge with his muzzle, curiously snuffling at her hair. He finishes with a satisfied sneeze and she grunts, flinching away from the spray.

“See for yourself.” Lance gets up and makes his way to the door. “C’mon, buddy! Wanna go out?”

Hunk nearly bowls Pidge over in a mad dash to the door and Lance flings it open, letting him charge through. His hind claws scrape the threshold as he launches himself like a swimmer off the block, clearing all the steps.

Lance chuckles as he follows, watching Hunk lope around the yard in giddy circles. Glossy moonlight shines over him, like stardust in his fur. Pidge lingers on the steps behind him, one hand resting on the railing.

“Is it safe to just let him run around like that?”

“Oh, yeah. He never goes too far.”

“And he’s not dangerous?”

“Nah, ‘course not! He’s still Hunk.”

Hunk skids to a stop and hunches on his hind legs, throwing his head back with a jubilant howl. His claws glitter like knives in the dark and Lance runs a hand through his hair.

“Um, okay, so he might be a little, tiny bit dangerous,” Lance admits. “But not maliciously.”

Pidge gives him a hard stare, arms folding over her chest.

“Hunk just doesn’t know his own strength when he’s like this, so you can’t play tug-of-war with him. I tried that when we were kids and—“

“Wait, wait, wait,” Pidge interrupts. “He was like this when you were kids!?”

“Just as furry, but way smaller.” Lance grins. “When we were in kindergarten, my parents thought ‘Wolfy’ was my imaginary friend.”

Hunk ends his howling and peers sharply into the trees, ears pivoting with interest. He drops back on all fours and slips into the shrubbery, going after whatever it is he must’ve heard. Lance figures he’ll probably return with a dead squirrel, or maybe a stick almost big enough to qualify as log.  
  
“Should we follow him?” Pidge asks.

“He’ll come back. If not by himself, then when I call him.”

“Okay.” Pidge sits on the top step and tents her fingers together. “Explain this to me.”

“Sure,” Lance agrees. “What part?”

“All of it! Why is he like this? Did he eat some wolfsbane? Get bit by another werewolf? Experimented on by a mad scientist?” Pidge flails her arms.

“Nope. It’s just what he is, Pidge, his whole family is like this.” Lance stays in earshot as he shuffles over to the shed, picking up the faux rock to get the hidden key inside. “I don’t know about wolfsbane or mad scientists, but the biting thing is true. That’s another reason you can’t play tug-of-war with him. If he bites you on accident, it’s bad news.”

“I’m the size of his thigh, Lance.” Pidge rolls her eyes. “Playing with him is the furthest thing from my mind.”

“But he likes playing,” Lance insists, unlocking the shed. He rolls out Hunk’s favorite chew toy, this old truck tire found at the dump, and lets it drop to the dirt. “You can roll this for him. He loves fetch, and frisbee too. Just don’t play any kind of game where his teeth might catch you.”

“I don’t know.” Pidge clucks her tongue. “It might be kind of fun running around like a dog without a care in the world.”

“No, seriously.” Lance straightens up and looks her in the eye. “You know how in the movies, werewolves are all vicious and stuff?”

“About a half-hour ago I was sure that’s what Hunk was, so yeah. But that’s just Hollywood junk, right? Hunk’s obviously not vicious.”

“He’s not, but this is a natural state for him. From what I know, the ones who get turned usually aren’t as friendly as the born ones like Hunk and his fam.”

“Hunk is a huge goofy dog, but if he bites me, I’m a bloodthirsty monster?”

“Potentially.”

Pidge rubs her chin. “Alright, no tug-of-war or games of the like. Got it. Any other rules?”

“No running. That’s kind of just a precaution though.” Lance wiggles his hands in an iffy motion. “Like, he’d probably be fine but he also really likes chasing things, so it’s just better not to push your luck.”

“You’re telling me he has a prey drive?”

Hunk answers her question himself as he pelts back into view. He emerges from the undergrowth with a dead raccoon hanging from his maw. Prancing up to Pidge, he proudly drops it in her lap, undeterred by her screech of disgust.

“No!” she hurriedly shoves it away, sending it tumbling heavily down the steps.

Hunk’s ears switch and he looks at her for a moment before he picks it up and again drops it in her lap, despite her vehement protests of _“ew, no, no, no!”_

“What?” Lance teases. “Don’t like your present?”

This time, Pidge picks it up and chucks the thing as far as she can. Hunk snatches it midair and decides, hey, this is a fun game. He trots a few lengths away and tosses his head, hurling it into the air. He catches it before it can hit the ground, bone wetly crunching under the clench of his jaws. He continues to amuse himself this way, throwing and catching his fresh kill. Pidge can’t turn away, just as transfixed as she is disturbed.

“At least this time its guts are still inside,” Lance says, watching Hunk snag the descending raccoon by its tail. “Last month he left a disemboweled opossum on my pillow.”

“Uh-uh,” Pidge shakes her head back and fourth. “Nope. This can’t be Hunk. I know you said he doesn’t think like a person, but he’s— he’s like the most squeamish guy I know! He can’t even squish bugs and I’m supposed to believe he can do that?”

She points to the suddenly tail-less raccoon corpse as Hunk gives it another playful toss in the air.

“Believe me. In the morning, he’s going to be twice as grossed out by this as you are right now.”

The next time Hunk catches it, he keeps it. He prowls around the yard and eventually finds a spot he likes by the shed. Then he begins to dig, a storm of dirt spraying behind the rapid churning of his forepaws. It only takes a couple minutes for him to make a deep enough hole that he dumps the raccoon in.

He turns around and kicks the dirt back over it with his hefty hind paws, stray clods pattering against the shed.

It’s strange, but some of his everyday mannerisms carry over into his full moon behavior. He is just as scrupulous about his digging as a creature as he is about his cooking as a person. Once the raccoon is covered, he turns around and inspects his work. Nitpicking, he shifts some more dirt around with his muzzle until he’s pleased with it.

“Okay,” Pidge relents, “never mind, that’s Hunk.”

Lance gets his tire and props it up, giving a prompting whistle. Hunk whips his head back, gaze brightening when it lands on the tire. Lance gives it a good push and he comes charging, tongue flung out the corner of his mouth and drool flying behind it. He tackles it with an excitable yip, somersaulting across the grass.

“You spending the night?” Lance glances to Pidge.

“Is that okay?” she wonders, arching a brow at Hunk.

“For sure, you can even snuggle with him.”

“You’re kidding,” Pidge deadpans.

Hunk crouches on his hinds and rolls the tire with his forepaws, rapidly springing after it. He takes it down again and gnaws happily, almost like a horrific, hairy infant with an oversized teething ring.

“He’s a great space heater once he’s calm.” Lance smiles fondly.

“He has a calm setting?”

“Eventually.”

Hunk doesn’t do much to help convince her. He gallops around the yard in laps, fervently shaking his tire back and fourth. He bounds up to Lance to show it off to him, bumping it against his chest none too gently.

“Oof, yeah, buddy, I see it.” Lance grunts, pushing back. Pidge snickers loudly from behind, and Hunk bashes him again, along the side of his torso before he drops it at his feet. Lance sighs, bending down to put it upright.

“You want me to roll this, huh?”

Hunk’s boat of a body wiggles with what Lance knows to be anticipation, and he sends it off with a kick. Hunk darts after it.

“This is too weird for words,” Pidge remarks.

Lance thinks she might still be a bit nervous since she hasn’t meandered too far from the steps. He can’t blame her. It’s probably a lot to take in. Growing up with Hunk, the full moon thing became normal very early. He wasn’t even old enough to question it, really.

But poor Pidge found out werewolves were a thing by walking in on one she thought killed Hunk and now all she’s got is Lance’s word to go on that actually, hey, it is Hunk and he’s even safe to snuggle with. It’s a load to process, even for her brilliant brain.

“You okay?” Lance asks.

“As long as he doesn’t try to give me any more dead things, I’ll be fine.”

“I think he’s done hunting, but he might try to give you the tire.”

“I can handle the tire.” Pidge nods agreeably.

Sure enough, on his way back around, Hunk comes loping up to her. He swings his head and playfully whacks her with his tire. It knocks her onto her bottom and Lance gives a wince.

“Still okay?” he calls.

“Bruised my ass,” she grumbles and then to Hunk, changes her tone to the stern and clear one she uses when she commands her dog.

“Drop it!”

Hunk obediently drops it between her sprawled legs.

“Good.” Pidge uprights the tire and rises to her feet, shoving it as hard as she can. It goes rolling and Hunk races after it. “Jeez, that thing is heavy.”

“He needs durable toys,” Lance says sheepishly.

Eventually, when both of them are throughly beaten with the tire and Hunk’s panting heavily, Lance calls it a night. He rolls it back into the shed and heads back up the trailer steps, holding the door open.

“C’mon, Hunk,” he crows, “bedtime!”

Hunk clambers up the steps and Lance moves aside to let him through. His claws clack on the floor as he makes his way to his room, bunting the door open with his head. Lance can hear the thump and the subsequent creak of the box-spring as he hops on the bed.

Pidge comes in last and shuts the door behind her, scanning over the destruction of the kitchen and living room.

“Gonna leave that until morning?”

“Not my mess to clean.” Lance shrugs and slips into his room, searching through his closet for something comfortable Pidge can put on.

“Got your shark t-shirt?” she asks, standing on her toes to peek over his shoulder.

“Yeah, but I’m gonna wear it.”

“Nope,” she declares, whisking around him and snatching it off the hanger. “Mine tonight.”

“Hey!”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me. You guys have been lying to me for years.” She waves his shirt and plants her hands on her hips. “Excuse me if I’m feeling a little petty after walking in here and thinking I was gonna get _eaten_ , because neither of you bothered to mention anything about this!”

“Alright, fine.” Lance slumps. “You get first pick of my pants too.”

“Got the galaxy ones?” she asks, thumbing through his hangers.

“Drawstring broke, they’ll fall right off you.”

“Hm. Okay, then the ones with the hotdogs.” She takes them off the hanger and ducks into the bathroom to get changed.

Lance changes into his own pajamas, then slips into Hunk’s room. He’s flopped on his side, tail hanging over the foot of the king-sized bed. Finally mellowed down for the night, he picks up his head at Lance’s arrival.

Lance crawls onto the mattress and Hunk drapes an arm around him like a person might, welcoming his presence. Lance shimmies close and rests his cheek on his shoulder, sighing in contentment. Hunk’s belly fur is soft, like a shaggy carpet. His topcoat is coarser, but the toasty comfort of his body heat easily makes up for it. Snuggling with him feels like being wrapped in a plush bathrobe fresh out of the dryer.

Pidge appears in the doorway, watching skeptically.

“You know you want to.” Lance grins.

“Well…”

Hunk stares at her, ears swiveling expectantly.

“He wants you to.”

“Okay,” giving in, she kneels on the mattress and sort of scoots her way over.

She lies down at his back and nestles close, curling her fingers into his fur.

“He is comfy,” she admits, voice muffed as she nuzzles her face into him. “So warm. It feels like I’m sitting in front of a campfire.”

Hunk rests his head above Lance’s and wags his tail between the two of them.

“Yup,” Lance agrees. “I usually don’t even use a blanket.”

“This almost makes up for the dead raccoon in my lap,” she mutters tiredly.

Lance gives a chuckle and stretches around Hunk to reach the remote under the pillow. He flicks the television atop the dresser on. Like the universe has a sense of humor, it just happens to be this black and white, cheesy horror movie where the werewolf looks more like a dude with too much facial hair and the actresses look right into the camera when they scream.

Pidge gives an amused snort, but sooner than later, no matter how much he might’ve scared her earlier, she’s snoring into Hunk’s back. Hunk himself snores like a chainsaw but his body heat is like a tranquilizer and it doesn’t take Lance that much longer to start snoring too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe this'll be like...eight chapters? Nine? I don't know. I have a weird sense of humor so I'm probably bad at humor, but I try.


	2. Chapter 1½

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, intermission type chapter? 
> 
> It's not it's own chapter, really, hence why it's titled 1½. Most of these are not going to be direct continuations of the previous update. Tbh it mostly exists because I think the fanon that Pidge is into cryptids is really cute and a brief continuation of the first chapter seemed like a natural place to slip it in. 
> 
> I just think it's such a cute headcanon? Like, for real? Glad that one caught on.

“You’re going to ruin your enamel,” Pidge warns as Hunk brushes his teeth for the twelfth time in a row.

He rolls his eyes and continues brushing in vigorous circles, minty foam bubbling around his mouth.

“And we’re gonna get food,” Lance points out. “Y’know, since you ate everything last night. Do you really want your breakfast to taste like toothpaste?”

Hunk spits into the kitchen sink and rinses his toothbrush off, muttering under his breath about raccoons and rabies.

“I don’t think it was rabid,” Pidge says, wrinkling her nose. “It didn’t have any froth on its mouth when you dumped it in my lap.”

“Was it acting like a normal raccoon?” Lance asks. “Like, it ran when you went after it?”

“Tried to,” Hunk mutters. “Even if it wasn’t rabid, it could’ve had fleas, or ticks, or intestinal roundworm! Raccoons eat people’s trash! Why would you guys let me chew on something that probably lived in a dumpster!?”

“You were having fun,” Lance says lightly. “Besides, it’s not like we can just take stuff out of your mouth, dude. You know that’s risky.”

“I gave it to you,” Hunk grouses, turning a glower on Pidge. “Why didn’t you take it away from me?”

“Right! Because when you suddenly dropped a dead raccoon in my lap, my first thought was ‘oh gee, better not let Hunk get intestinal roundworm.’ Why the heck did you do that, anyway?”

“At the time I thought— Err, not _thought_ , exactly, it just…It felt like you would want it. You seemed kind of on edge and it felt like you’d be happier if I gave it to you.”

“Like that time I sprained my wrist so you baked me cookies, only way grosser?” Pidge tilts her head.

“Yeah,” Hunk snaps his fingers. “Great way to put it. Dead stuff is my full moon equivalent to cookies.”

“The raccoon wasn’t that bad,” Lance insists. “I had to throw out my pillowcase because of the disemboweled opossum. Even worse than that was you smacking me with a dead deer. Let's be real, I barely survived that one and oh man, remember the look on Keith’s face when you gave him a decapitated badger?”

“What!?” Pidge slams her hands down on the countertop. “Keith knows!? You assholes told freaking Keith before you told me?”

“Don’t look at me.” Lance holds his hands up. “Not my secret!”

“You’re the one who actually told him though,” Hunk crosses his arms over his chest. “Not my choice.”

“You think I had one? You went after his four wheeler!”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Hunk huffs hotly, “you know I can’t help chasing things!”

“But you were the one who told him he could ride his four wheeler back here in the first place. So actually, yeah, it is your fault!”

“Keith found out because you chased his four wheeler?” Pidge asks, visibly struggling not to smile.

Hunk shies away from the question, ducking his head.

“Big time,” Lance scoffs. “He followed him for like a mile, totally scared the crap out of him.”

Pidge cracks a grin and Lance playfully nudges her.

“You think it’s funny, don’t lie.”

“No I don’t,” Pidge insists, her grinning lips failing to back up the statement. “Okay, fine. I do, but I’m still mad! How long has Keith known?”

“Couple months,” Hunk admits.

“Who else knows?”

“Nobody. And Keith finding out was a fluke but really,” Hunk promises solemnly, “Pidge, I always planned to tell you.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Uh…it’s awkward?” Hunk gestures vaguely. “It’s not like there was ever a good time to tap you on the shoulder and go, ‘guess what, I’m a werewolf.’ Even if I did, would you have believed me?”

“I wouldn’t have _dis_ believed you,” Pidge murmurs. “Although I would’ve wanted proof.”

“He can change on the spot,” Lance pipes in.

Hunk shoots him a frustrated look.

“What?” he returns innocently. “I thought we were being honest now.”

“For real? You can be that big wolf thing whenever you want?” Pidge’s eyes widen.

“On the full moon it’s automatic, I have no control over that. Otherwise, yeah, I can switch when I want," Hunk explains wearily. 

“That’s fascinating,” hums Pidge, a thoughtful look falling over her face.

“I guess?” Hunk scratches his head. “I definitely prefer being a person. Dead things in my mouth once a month is more than enough.”

“You have dead things in your mouth when you’re a person too,” Lance reminds him. “We had bacon yesterday. That’s dead pig, right there.”

“Solid point.” Pidge agrees.

“I mean fresh dead stuff, obviously.” Hunk rolls his eyes. “I can trust that FDA approved pork isn’t going to give me fleas or intestinal roundworm. I have to be a person most of the time anyway. I can’t walk around like a monster in broad daylight when we have class, and— uh-oh. What day is it?”

“Sunday, buddy. None of us have class.”

“But we could stand to work on our project. That’s why I came over last night,” Pidge adds.

Hunk rubs his hand over his face. “And I’m the one who said we should work on it. Stupid blue moon slipped my mind.”

“Both of you forgot,” Pidge chides. “If I would’ve been in on this, I would’ve remembered.”

“Now that you do know, we’re splitting shifts,” Lance declares. “You get share the secret, you get to share the responsibility.”

“What about Keith?” she protests. “He knows.”

“Keith is not the ideal lupine babysitter.”

“Uh, guys? I’m standing right here.” Hunk pouts. “I know you've got to keep an eye on me when I transform, but do you really have to call it babysitting?”

“Considering you’re more destructive than a daycare full of toddlers, yes, yes I do,” Lance says smugly, gesturing to the ravaged living room.

Hunk heaves a sighs, shoulders slumping. “Right. If I hang back to fix the fridge, Pidge, can you help Lance get a rug?”

He’d already mopped up the blood and got the fridge back upright, but he hadn’t put back the shelves or the door. The door also has deep claw marks slashed across it, which hopefully they’ll be able to cover convincingly with various lists and pictures from assorted nieces and nephews.

“A rug, beanbag, and futon cover,” Lance corrects. “Oh, and food if you can actually fix the fridge, a cooler if you can’t.”

“I can fix the fridge.”

“Hold up. You keep this from me for years and now you want me on werewolf damage control?” Pidge barks a wry laugh. “No way.”

Hunk pauses and then leans over the counter. “Would it make it up to you if I told you some werewolf stuff even Lance doesn’t know?”

Pidge lifts an interested brow.

“Pfft, you’re bluffing.” Lance swats the air. “I’ve been with you since we were four, what could I possibly not know?”

“Oh, there’s plenty of stuff you don’t know.” Hunk flashes him a foxlike grin.

“I call bull.”

“Bad call,” Hunk dismisses smoothly. “I can think of ten werewolf things off the top of my head you're clueless about. What do you say, Pidge?”

“It’s a start,” she decides. “If you tell me something good, I’ll help clean up.”

“Alrighty!” Hunk claps his hands together. “Lance, go wait in the car.”

“Seriously?” Lance squawks.

Both Hunk and Pidge point to the door.

“Ugh, fine. But you’re the one who wrecked the place, Dog Breath, so it’s your wallet I’m taking.”

Lance swipes Hunk’s wallet off the counter before he can argue, and pockets it as he sulks down the trailer steps. He gets in the car and messes around on his phone while he waits, wondering just what it is Hunk is telling her. He’s still doubtful that there could be any important werewolf thing he isn’t aware of.

Maybe it isn’t anything important though, just a trivial tidbit or two she might find interesting. Pidge has a thing for cryptozoology, which is kind of ironic considering how strictly she adheres to hard, proven science. Maybe that’s another reason she’s so personally offended they kept this from her. After all, they know about her cryptid hobby, and here’s Hunk an actual cryptid she goes to class with and hangs out with all the time, and they just let her remain oblivious?

It does seem kind of mean when he he thinks about it. Though to be fair, Pidge was primarily interested in sea monsters. She liked to ramble on about Sharktopus, or Nessie, or something called “The Knucker” which to Lance sounded like an insult, but was apparently some kind of water dragon thing.

Does Hunk technically count as a sea monster if he can swim? Because he’s a really good swimmer, which is uncommon for werewolves. That’s one of those trivial tidbits Lance happens to know about. Werewolves usually have the same problem chimps do, with musculature too dense for buoyancy in the water. But Hunk kept a good amount of pudge on him even when he was transformed. It’s not a fact that’s particularly compelling to Lance, but Pidge would probably think otherwise.

Nah, Hunk probably doesn’t count as a sea monster. He doesn’t actually come from the sea. Lance is a fantastic swimmer himself, but it’s not like that makes him a mermaid. Briefly, he wonders if mermaids are real. But they are, no question. They’ve gotta be.

The sound of the passenger’s door opening catches Lance’s attention and he glances up from his phone as Pidge slides into the seat. She’s got a subdued kind of smirk on her face as she buckles her seatbelt and Lance can’t help feeling curious.

“What did he tell you?”

“To tell you not to buy an ugly rug.”

“Smart ass.”

Pidge sticks her tongue out.

“Whatever,” Lance mutters. “It was probably just boring trivia anyway.”

“You wish,” Pidge snickers.

Lance scrutinizes, trying to determine whether or not she actually knows something juicy. It sure sounds like she does, but she could just be messing with him. Pidge smirks knowingly and pats him on the shoulder.

“Just drive, Lance. Depending on what you get me for breakfast, I might give you a hint.”

Well, Lance just happens to know her favorite pancake house. 

* * *

He watches intently as Pidge takes the first bite of her pancakes, strawberry banana with the yogurt sauce. She refused to look at a menu and made him take a guess instead, ordering for her. It would’ve been cheating, she’d said, if she picked her own meal.

Lance is pretty confident he’s picked correctly, but an uncertain anticipation builds as she chews it over. Swallowing, Pidge smiles, a sunny glint in her eye.

“Good choice,” she decides, sawing off another piece.

“Alright, so spill.” Lance stabs his own blueberry pancake with a fork and works on twisting a piece off.

“He told me how to kill him,” Pidge bubbles casually, stuffing another forkful of pancake into her mouth.

“What?” Lance nearly chokes on his bite.

“Mhm.” Pidge nods and elaborates when she’s through chewing, “Now I could be a bonafide werewolf slayer if I wanted to.”

Lance drops his fork.

Hunk as a person isn’t really invulnerable to anything. If you hit him with a car, he’d splat like normal people do when hit with cars.

But hitting Hunk with a car on the full moon? It’s the car that’s gonna go flying.

“I don’t know how to do that,” Lance admits, nominally put out. He pouts into his pancakes, growing soggy as they soak up the maple syrup. “But I don’t need to know how. I’d never even think of hurting him. And Hunk hates morbid stuff like that, why’d he tell you?”

“Precisely because I’d never think of hurting him either.” Pidge thoughtfully chews over another bite. “He trusts me. And I needed that reassurance, okay? For a minute, it really didn’t feel like it. I tell you guys everything and this whole time I thought it went both ways…”

“Aw, Pidge, I’m sorry,” Lance apologizes sincerely.

Pidge shakes her head. “I’m less mad at you. Like you said, it wasn’t your secret. Though now would be the time to tell me if you’re a sea monster in disguise or something.”

Lance splutters in offense. “Sea monster? How about handsome merman?”

Pidge snorts and stuffs another piece of pancake in her mouth.

“What is it with you and sea monsters anyway?”

Pidge bobs her head as she chews and Lance takes a sip of orange juice, restlessly tapping his foot.

“Okay, so for me most cryptid stuff is just for fun. I know it’s a pseudoscience, Lance, I don’t really think Bigfoot is hiding in the bushes. But,” she pauses, pointing her fork right at him. “Sea monsters are the exception. You know mysterious the ocean is. Anything could be down in those depths.”

Lance nibbles on his own bite of pancake and tilts his head. “Now that you know about Hunk, are you gonna rethink Bigfoot?”

Pidge sits back and idly clinks her fork against the plate.

“I just might.” 

* * *

Hunk texts Lance the measurements of the living room and he and Pidge hit this overstock warehouse to browse what they’ve got for a cheap price. Hunk makes decent dough as a part-time mechanic, but Lance won’t overspend it on something that might end up clawed or chewed to threads anyway.

“What kind of rug are we looking for?” Pidge asks.

“Neither of us are that picky, but darker colors would probably be better. No white, or cream, or ecru with all the blood and mud he tracks in.”

“Ecru?” Pidge deadpans.

“Just help me find a rug.”

She leaves it at that but she’s still smirking as she walks away to check the other side of the section. The rugs are all on display in stacks on several large tables. The plan is for each of them to start at one end and eventually meet in the middle.

Lance flips through rug after rug, but they’re all too small. Whoever stocked didn’t organize them by size. He’s drawn to this one cool, blue runner patterned by a lioness’s outline. Too bad it's the living room that needs a rug and not the hallway. This would be his first pick. 

Unable to find any of suitable size, he ends up meeting Pidge in the middle a lot sooner than he expected. 

“I hope you found some that are the right size because I sure didn’t.”

"I found _one_ that was the right size.”

“Where?”

Pidge motions him over to another stack and peels a few back, nodding to a hot pink, zebra print rug.

“Really?” Lance groans, his shoulders slumping.

“At least it’s not ecru,” she offers drily.

Of course the only one that’ll fit looks like this. Of course. Lance supposes they could go to another store, but he still has to buy a beanbag and a futon cover. And groceries, since Hunk ate literally everything that was in the fridge. They’re both students and affordability has to come before aesthetic.

“Fine,” he sighs.

Pidge moves the other rugs back some more and Lance begrudgingly takes the hideous thing, fighting to fold it into the cart. It doesn’t leave room for much else, so he’ll have to pass on the new beanbag for now. It’s kind of a bummer, but the rug and the futon cover are more integral to the living room anyway.

Browsing futon covers goes better than browsing the rugs did. There’s a plain black one, polyester, right size, even marked down.

The food mart is in the same strip and Lance just picks up the essentials. Hunk usually does the food shopping, but Lance just wants to make sure they won’t starve until he gets around to it. Pidge helps him load up the car.

Now that he’s gotten all that out of the way, his curiosity rekindles. About halfway to the trailer he spares a brief glance to Pidge as his mind continues spiraling down the road of speculation.

“So, how do you kill Hunk when he’s in full moon mode?”

“Nope,” Pidge gloats. “My lips are sealed.”

“Come on,” Lance begs, “what if I need to know for my safety?”

“Because Hunk is a savage beast and you totally didn’t spend the night cuddling him,” Pidge says, every syllable dripping with sarcasm.

“Clearly I don’t mean Hunk. What if I get attacked by a random, feral werewolf?”

“Sorry,” Pidge practically purrs, not sorry at all. “It’s just not my secret to share.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I lied. I said this fic was gonna be about werewolf hijinks and there were none in this update. I'm sorry. Oh well, next time Hunk meets a skunk.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief instances of animal lewdness.

“This is him, ladies and gentleman,” Lance introduces, straining to adopt the stoic monotone of narrators on the nature channel and keep his face straight as Pidge’s tearful laughter bubbles in the background.

“My best friend. A supposed genius and culinary master, in all his glory.” Lance switches the camera on his phone, holding it horizontally to get Hunk in the frame as he fervently humps Keith’s four wheeler.

The footage probably won’t turn out because it’s so dark but Lance can’t resist filming.

“All I can think of is Bae Bae with the pillow,” Pidge wheezes, grasping Lance’s shoulder as she doubles over.

Then Keith comes bolting out of the trailer, armed with the spray bottle.

“Stop it!” he shouts as he strides. “Bad werewolf!”

He barrages Hunk with squirt after squirt until Hunk releases his four wheeler, trotting away from the assault.

“You left claw marks in the seat,” he curses after him.

Lance laughs and lowers the phone, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. Keith turns a glower on him and scowls.

“You were recording? Instead of trying to get him off?”

Pidge snickers at the poor word choice, slapping her forehead.

“Oh, I think your four wheeler was doing a good enough job of that,” Lance scoffs and pockets his phone.

“You know what I meant,” Keith groans, hanging his head. “It’s not funny! I have to get it fixed now.”

“You’re overreacting.” Lance waves dismissively. “Those are barely scratches. If you want to see real claw marks, check out what he did to the floor.”

Hunk is perfectly oblivious to any distress he’s caused, sniffing at some bushes by the tree line.

“Is it possible to file his claws down?” Pidge wonders.

“I can tell you right now it’s not something I’m gonna try,” Lance blurts, casting a glance to his friend’s paws. Those things are like razors, he’s not going to go out of his way to get up close and personal with them.

“It’d probably be a waste of time,” Keith says. “I’m guessing he’d have them back next cycle.”

Keith morosely runs his hand over the marks in the seat and Hunk takes an interest in him, coming over. He idly bumps his muzzle against the nape of Keith’s neck.

“Hey, your nose is cold!” he gasps, lurching forward.

Hunk cocks his large head curiously and then makes his way over to Pidge, draping it over her shoulder. She hums a fond sound and scratches between his ears. His tail swishes in contentment but eventually those ears swivel back when he hears something the rest of them can’t.

He alerts and and slinks off into the woods, swallowed up by shadows and shrubs.

“Wanna take bets on what he’s gonna come back with?” Lance proposes. “Losers have to buy the winner dinner?”

“No fair.” Pidge crosses her arms. “You’ve got his routine memorized and I’ve only known about this for a month.”

“He comes back with pretty random stuff, I swear.” Lance holds his hands up placatingly. “Usually something dead, yeah, but it could be anything from a rabbit to a moose—”

“We don’t have moose here,” Keith cuts in.

“Bet you didn’t think we had werewolves here either,” Lance shoots back, though privately he has no idea if Keith is right about the moose or not.

Keith pauses, consideration coloring his features.

“Werewolves?” Pidge repeats. “Plural?”

“Nah, my bad.” Lance shakes his head. “Or…huh, you know, I’m not sure. I’ve never seen another one though. Hunk would say something if he ever did.”

“If they’re all as big as he is, they can’t be hard to miss,” says Keith.

“We have normal wolves, right?” Lance asks.

“Geographically they’re not as common as they used to be, but yeah,” Pidge says, nodding. “Their territory supposedly overlaps with sasquatch territory.”

“Giving Bigfoot another chance, huh?”

She simply shrugs.

“Can Hunk communicate with normal wolves?” Keith looks to Lance.

“Uh, I have no idea.”

“And here I thought you were the grand expert on all things werewolf,” Pidge gushes sarcastically.

“It’s not like that’s something relevant,” Lance protests. “Even if he could talk to wolves, I doubt they have anything interesting to say. They probably just talk about dead stuff or what trees they like to piss on.”

“Sounds more interesting than half the things you talk about,” Keith quips, smirking.

Lance jaw drops as he splutters for a comeback. Before he can think of one, he’s choking on a sudden stench so sinful he swears he can feel his organs curdle. Pidge squalls as it hits her too, slapping her hands over her nose and mouth. Keith gags and quickly covers his face with his jacket collar.

“Ugh! What is that?”

“Smells like a dead skunk,” Pidge moans.

“And it’s getting stronger,” Keith grunts.

The bushes rustle as Hunk bustles through, padding back into the yard. Lance’s eyes burn as the odor becomes overpowering and sure enough, there's a dead skunk drooping limply from his jaws.

“No!” Lance gasps in horror. “Oh my god, no!”

Hunk even looks guilty. He seems to know he did something wrong, timidly skulking his way up to Lance. He drops the skunk in front of him like it’s some kind of token of apology, his back partially arched as his tail tucks between his hind legs.

Lance recoils in revulsion, the stink so strong it threatens to knock him over.

“No!” he bellows, trying his hardest not to breathe in as he shoots a watery glare down at the dead skunk. “I don’t want this, no one wants this! Go put it back!”

Hunk really doesn’t get it. He humbly nudges the little carcass even closer to Lance’s shoes and Lance nearly throws up. Pidge comes to his rescue with a large stick. She wedges the stick under the skunk and flips back like a lacrosse player, effectively catapulting it beyond the trees.

Hunk watches it go and for one dreadful moment, Lance fears he’s going to retrieve it. But he remains where he is, crouching down as his ears go back.

The noxious foulness weakens with the departure of the dead skunk, but by no means does it dissipate.

“Pretty sure it sprayed him. His fur looks oily,” informs Keith.

“Why?” Lance whines, staring into glowing, beastly eyes. “Why do you do this?”

Hunk tries to lick his chin like he always does when he knows Lance is mad, but Lance steps back out of range.

“I don’t want your nasty tongue near me! Do you realize what you did?”

But of course, he doesn’t. He never does when he’s like this. He knows he did something though, evident in the shy way he holds himself and the nervous look he’s giving Lance. That much is at least a little recognizable. The nervous look Hunk gives him with yellowy predator eyes, is the same nervous look he gives him with human brown ones when Lance is the one dragging him into some kind of trouble or another.

“What are we gonna do?” Pidge asks. “It’s not like he can fit in your bathtub.”

“Gonna have to use the hose,” Lance sighs. “Keith, can you go get the big cans of tomato juice in the pantry?”

Keith nods and hurries into the house.

“Get the big car sponges out of the shed, Pidge, I’m gonna unwind the hose.”

Pidge shuffles to the shed.

“And you,” he adds, staring hard at Hunk. _“Stay.”_

He uses the hand signal to emphasize the command and watches Hunk out of the corner of his eye as he goes to fetch the hose. Luckily, Hunk obeys. Keith comes back with tomato juice tucked under his arms and Pidge kicks the shed door behind her, car sponges in tow.

Lance starts to unravel the hose and with only the moonlight to go by, he feels the holes before he sees them. Telltale punctures wreak the rubber in a blueprint Lance is well familiar with; large canine chew marks.

“When?” he demands, frustratedly throwing the useless hose up in the air as he whips around to gape at Hunk. “When the heck did you destroy this!?”

Hunk predictably doesn’t answer, only lowers his head.

“Now what?” asks Keith.

“I don’t know.” Lance sags tiredly, odor still hanging heavy in the air and scorching his nostrils.

“Allura’s pool?” Pidge suggests. “She’s not home tonight, she went to some concert.”

Lance pauses. This could work. He doesn’t want to pollute Allura’s pool with skunk stink, but it’s not like they have a lot of options. With a few fancy chlorine treatments it was bound to come out. And Allura could afford fancy chlorine treatments. Fancy everything really, she had so much moolah you’d think she was royalty.

“But how do we get him there?” Lance scrunches his nose.

He doubts Hunk would fit in the car to begin with, and even if they could wedge him in there, there wouldn't be room for anything else. They can’t exactly put a leash on him and walk him up to Allura’s front door, either.

“There’s a few trails back there that lead to her property.” Keith jerks his thumb toward the forest. “We can take Red. He’ll follow us, he loves chasing her.”

Red was Keith’s pet name for his four wheeler. Pretty uninspired in Lance’s opinion. If he had an ATV or a motorcycle, he’d actually put some thought into naming it that went beyond the paint job.

“Is that smart?” Pidge grimaces. “Isn’t it tempting fate to let him chase us?”

“At this point, I think it’s worth the risk,” Lance mutters. “If I have to keep breathing in skunk fumes, I’m gonna pass out.”

He takes the tomato juice cans from Keith to leave the latter’s hands free for the driving. Red is pretty good sized and they all manage to cram on it, smushed together like sardines. The cans dig uncomfortably into Lance’s stomach and to hang onto them, he can only wrap one arm around Keith. Pidge is in back so she won’t get squished like a grape sandwiched between them, clinging tightly to Lance.

Lance glances back over to his shoulder to get a look at Hunk. The werewolf still hasn’t moved, but he’s watching them, head raised and eyes focused. Lance has no doubt he’ll give chase but he’s not too worried about it escalating any more than that.

It’s ideal not to be the thing he’s chasing since the things he’s chasing generally end up bloodied and lifeless. But he’s never actually hurt a person before. Well, other than the time they were eight and Lance thought tug-of-war was a good idea. But that was totally an accident and Hunk didn’t bite him or anything, just dragged him around for a hot second or two. When Lance yelped he knew to let go and spent the rest of the night vigorously licking his scratches, and the morning profusely apologizing.

And at this rate, Lance thinks the risk of dying from toxic skunk reek is higher than the risk of Hunk going in for the kill.

“Hold on,” Keith warns and then he takes off.

The wind rakes icy fingers through his hair and Pidge’s clinging becomes a death grip so tight that between her and the cans, Lance is sure he’ll crack a rib. He looks behind them and squints into the dark, checking to make sure Hunk is following.

It’s difficult when his eyes are watering from the wind, but he sees bright eyes first and glinting claws second. Hunk gallops after them, ears eagerly pointed forward. He keeps pace, and doesn’t give any sign of trying to overtake them or lunge, which would be worrying. But nah, just like Lance figured, there’s no threat here.

Hunk's still not scary. Just stinky.  

* * *

Keith is a bit of a speed demon and they make good time. The trail that leads to Allura's property stops right before her pole barn, where she keeps a few recreational vehicles of her own inside. Her yard isn’t fenced in, although the pool itself has a fence around it, probably to keep out any kids or weirdos who happen to be wandering by.

Understandable of course, but it’s an issue none of them considered before settling on this as the plan.

“Does anyone know the code?” Pidge asks.

“Try my birthday,” Lance says.

“Why would it be your birthday?” Keith narrows his eyes.

“Because even though she won’t admit it, I know deep down Allura is totally into me.”

Pidge snorts but punches his birthdate in anyway. The screen screen flashes red and the gate remains locked.

Lance wilts as the other two snicker at him.

“Hey, at least I had an idea. You guys try to guess it!”

“Maybe it’s Allura’s birthday,” Pidge mumbles, punching it in only to get another red screen of rejection.

“Her birthday backwards?” Keith suggests tentatively.

Hunk gets up from rolling in the grass a few lengths away and offers his own suggestion in the form of a long, low howl.

Suddenly a light in the upstairs window flashes on. Lance freezes, letting out a gasp.

“I thought you said she was at a concert!” Keith hisses to Pidge.

“I thought she was!” Pidge hisses back. “Maybe her dad’s home!”

Allura finding them would be bad enough, but her dad? Hell no, that'd be a disaster!

“Crap, we gotta go!” Lance turns and races for the four wheeler, Keith and Pidge on his heels.

Hunk has other ideas. He’s happily rolling on his back in the grass again, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Lance puts the the breaks and turns around, whistling for him.

“C’mere, buddy! Time to go!”

Hunk resolutely ignores him, wriggling around like a giant garden snake and blissfully oblivious to the deep shit they’re about to be in.

The back door swings open and Lance holds his breath as a figure steps onto the back porch. The porch light flicks on and there’s Allura in her nightgown and slippers, bewildered look on her face and baseball bat in her hand. She gasps sharply and points it straight at Hunk.

“What on earth is that!?”

“M-My new dog,” Lance covers lamely. “One of those big, bear hunting ones. Don’t you see them all the time, working at a veterinarian office and all?”

“Dog!? If that is a dog, then I’m an alien princess!” Allura splutters in disbelief.

Hunk rolls onto his belly and then stands up. His tail starts going like the rudder of a motorboat the moment he recognizes Allura and then he’s giddily bounding toward her. Allura defensively readies the bat to swing and Lance scrambles forward, tomato juice cans slipping from his hands.

“Allura, don’t! He’s friendly!”

It’s too late. She cracks him right in the face with a solid _thwack._ Hunk gives a pained yelp and leaps off the porch, tail between his legs and ears pinned back. He hurries to Lance and hides behind him, trembling like a newborn fawn.

“Great, now you scared him.” Lance clucks his tongue and turns to Hunk, any ire he felt at the offensive skunk odor completely evaporating. He parts the fur above Hunk’s eye where he sees some blood, but there’s no wound.

It already healed in the mere seconds it took him to flee the porch. He isn’t hurt, he’s only spooked.

 _“I_ scared _him!?”_ Allura repeats, wrung with incredulity.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but he’s gentle,” Pidge calls over. “Mostly, anyway. Not to skunks or other assorted prey animals.”

“What is he?” Allura demands, jogging down the porch steps with her bat clutched to her chest.

“Hunk,” Lance answers plainly.

“Hunk?” she points to the hulking creature cowering behind Lance, blinking wide eyes. “That smelly thing is Hunk?”

“Yep. He usually smells better than this though, he just had a scuffle with a skunk.” Lance flashes her a weak smile.

“Kinda why we’re here,” Keith adds, shuffling closer. “We need to wash him but he’s too big for bathtubs and he ate the hose.”

“My hose?” Allura puzzles, blinking slowly. She seems to be in some kind of shock.

“No, mine. Yours is safe,” Lance promises.

“Alright.” Allura glances down to the cans Lance dropped and nudges one with her slipper so she can read the label. “You do know that tomato juice as a skunk smell remedy is only a myth, right?”

“Is it though? Because supposedly werewolves are a myth too, but we got this guy over here.” Pidge indicates Hunk with her thumb. “And you already know not to get me started on Nessie.”

“Tomato juice won’t get rid of the odor, it just overlays it with the scent of tomato. This I know for a fact,” Allura says, glancing briefly to Pidge. “Do you want him to smell clean or do you want him to smell like a spoiled tomato?”

“Clean,” Lance begs.

“Then I’m going to go inside and mix up an appropriate solution of peroxide, baking soda, and dish soap,” Allura continues slowly, tapping her fingernails against the polished wood of the bat. “If Hunk is still a werewolf when I come back, and this isn’t some kind of incredible prank you’re all playing on me, I’ll help bathe him.”

“Thanks, Allura,” they murmur in unison.

Allura just sighs. “You should’ve called first.”

“Thought you were at a concert,” Pidge mumbles sheepishly.

“That’s tomorrow.”

* * *

Allura’s pool is freezing. She turns the hot tub on but no one is allowed to go in until Hunk’s clean. Hunk himself doesn’t seem to mind the cold water. He splashes around contentedly, paddling in the deep end and wading in the shallow end. He stays mostly still when they scrub him, but it’s a process.

Allura brought out a raft to rest the supplies on; her magic skunk solution, the sponges, a loofah, and a bottle of shampoo. She’s the only one of them in a proper bathing suit, and normally Allura in a bathing suit would be a dream come true, but Lance can’t really appreciate it when his teeth are chattering and he’s choking on the fetid odor of skunk spray.

They thoroughly work the car sponges up and down, back and fourth. Bubbly lather suds up his fur and everyone is attentive to alternating sides and double checking areas.

“Anyone get his tail yet?” Keith asks.

“I did,” Pidge offers.

“Face?” Allura asks.

“Working on it.” Lance dabs the the corner of his sponge down Hunk’s snout and under his eyes, careful not to get any soap in them.

A puff of sudsy foam lands on the tip of his nose and Hunk goes cross-eyed trying to look at it. He licks it off and slurps his tongue back into his mouth, one ear giving a twitch.

“Bet that didn’t taste good.” Lance chuckles and massages the lather into his chest fur.

His hands feel like the only parts of him that aren’t frozen. Hunk’s toasty body heat keeps them warm. He scrubs into him with a force, past the topcoat and the undercoat, right down to his skin.

“No need to hold back,” he encourages his friends to do the same. “You’re not gonna hurt him.”

“No holding back here,” Pidge puffs as she scours his haunches with all her might.

Hunk’s tail starts to wag and it smacks her upside the head with a concussive force. Lance winces in sympathy. Keith catches her arm before she can tip into the water and Pidge gives Hunk’s flank a reprimanding swat.

“You could hold back some, you big mutt,” she grumbles.

Allura uses the loofah between Hunk’s shoulders and Keith reaches under the water to get at his belly.

“I’m going to have to drain the pool after this,” Allura murmurs. She doesn’t sound angry, only weary.

“Sorry,” Lance says. “We didn’t really have many options.”

“Still,” Allura sniffs. “Next time, call beforehand. He gave me a fright.”

Allura doesn’t ask questions like Keith or Pidge did. She just takes it at face value that this is Hunk, and that her pool is a suitable place to bathe him. Lance wonders if Hunk’s going to be mad when he’s a person again. It’s only the third time he’s let what’s supposed to be a secret slip to someone else.

It wasn’t that big of a deal with Pidge. Hunk had earnestly been planning on telling her. Keith was this antisocial weirdo that frankly, Lance wasn’t entirely sure was human himself, so it probably wasn’t a big deal with him either. Allura…well, Allura is a friend.

They know her from before Shiro’s dog rescue, but they see her a lot there these days. She volunteers her services as a vet tech and sometimes they hang out. But Allura is also a socialite. She isn’t some stuck-up gossiper, not at all, but there’s probably security cameras all around this place.

Hunk’s probably being recorded this very moment. It’s one thing when it’s a goofy clip that probably won’t even turn out on Lance’s phone, but it’s tiptoeing the edge when it’s footage recorded on fancy cameras that probably have stellar night vision on them, with who knows what high tech security company monitoring them.

They rinse Hunk off with buckets and then start soaping him up with Allura’s shampoo. Lance contemplates all the while, pensive as he scrubs.

It’s not like there was much else to say once Allura came outside. He couldn’t pass him off as a dog. She recognized them, so it’s not like running away would’ve done any good. And Hunk didn’t exactly do himself any favors, charging up to her and freaking her out like that.

Of course it’s not his fault that he looks a hell of a lot scarier than he actually is, but it doesn’t change the fact that he does.

Allura outright asked what he was.

What exactly was he supposed to say?

“Lance?” Keith prompts, breaking him out of his trance.

“Huh?”

“Need help with his legs?”

“Nah, I got it.” Lance holds out his sponge for Allura to squeeze some more shampoo on. The scent is a tropical, fruity one that tickles his nose. “Mmm, what is this?”

“Champagne mango and coconut.” Allura smiles. “I thought it’d be a sensible replacement for dead skunk.”

“That’s for sure.” Lance breathes a laugh and dives under.

He has his own secret superpower, albeit it’s not as interesting as Hunk’s is. His eyes never burn underwater. Not from the salt in seawater, not from the chlorine in pool water. Now, Lance isn’t a merman the way Hunk is a werewolf, but since most people’s eyes would be on fire in aquatic conditions that don’t phase him in the least, he considers this sufficient evidence that he’s probably at least descended from mermaids.

It’s a helpful ability he uses now to scrub Hunk’s legs, a task he uses to ground his thoughts back in the present. He told Allura. Oh well. If Hunk’s mad in the morning, then he’s mad.

Nothing Lance can do about it.

* * *

Everyone ends up crashing at Allura’s place. De-skunking Hunk is a grueling process that warrants a soak in the hot tub, and then a shower after that to get all the chlorine off. It’s nearly sunrise by that point and Allura’s got like, five guest rooms.

In the morning Hunk is the last one up, but instead of being mad like Lance worried, he’s actually apologetic.

“Morning, guys,” he mumbles, looking between everyone chilling in Allura’s living room and bashfully adjusting the tie on the only article of clothing in the home she found that would fit him, this fuzzy pink bathrobe. “Sorry about the skunk and everything.”

“Hey, I’m just happy you didn’t put it in my lap,” Pidge teases, flashing him a grin.

“I’m more upset about Red’s seat,” Keith broods.

“I’ll fix it for you,” Hunk promises. “Got some pleather at the shop…”

Keith gives a short nod, satisfied.

“You guys hungry?”

“Very.” Allura raises a brow. “Are you offering to cook?”

“Operating under the assumption you have food, yes. Yes I am.”

“Considering your assumption is correct, that would be wonderful,” Allura says warmly, reclining back into the plush cushions. “You know where the kitchen is.”

Hunk relaxes, apparently grateful Allura isn’t making a big deal about last night’s impromptu revelation.

“Need any help in there, buddy?” Lance asks.

“I don’t think so, but I’ll let you know if I do.” Hunk waves his hand and makes his way to the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly sickfic! 
> 
> We take a short break from the scheduled programing of ~~(my sense of)~~ humor to explore some fluff instead. Hunk's werewolf-ness is not always as useless and troublesome as it seems.

Lance sniffles and rubs his finger under his nose, scowling tiredly into his bowl of cereal.

“You getting sick?” Hunk asks, frowning.

“Think so,” Lance admits. Last night he’d went to bed with a tickle in his throat. It wasn’t any better upon waking and now he can feel the congestion coming on. “Probably from having to scrub you down in ice cold pool water.”

“Okay, first of all, that was over a week ago. And second, you don’t get sick from cold water,” Hunk says matter-of-factly. “You get sick from pathogens.”

“Your face is a pathogen,” Lance mutters. His nose starts running again and he thoughtlessly swipes the snot off on his jacket sleeve, making Hunk cringe in disgust.

“Come on, man, we have perfectly good tissues,” he huffs pointedly, rummaging around in the junk drawer for one of those travel packs.

Lance ignores him and takes a spoonful of cereal. Instead of putting it to his lips, he just turns the spoon to the side and watches the soggy sugar flakes plop back into the bowl. Cereal seemed like a good idea when he poured it, but now letting it absorb the milk until it’s dissolved almost seems more sensible.

“Aha.” Hunk fishes out a travel pack of tissues and slides them across the tabletop.

Lance fumbles the package open and blows his nose until it honks, one of his ears popping. He didn’t even realize his ears were plugged up to that point and now that one’s popped but the other hasn’t, he’s suddenly aware and annoyed by the remaining fullness in the un-popped one. It makes one side of his head feel heavier than the other, uncomfortably unbalanced.

Lance gives eating another go in an effort to alleviate this new symptom. He’s heard somewhere that chewing gum can help your ears pop, and he figures chewing cereal can’t be all that different from chewing gum. He lifts another spoonful to his mouth and a sudden sneezing fit causes him to jerk the utensil, snot and milk speckling the table.

“Jeez, you’re definitely getting sick.” Hunk gives him a sympathetic look and takes a dishtowel off the counter, wiping the mess. “Maybe you should stay home, try to sleep it off before it gets too bad.”

“Can’t,” Lance sighs, the breath scratching against his throat. “I have a stupid anthropology test.”

Hunk winces. “Bad timing, huh?”

“The worst.” Lance deflates, already tired from the very idea of going to class like this.

“I’ll drive today,” Hunk offers. “And I can make you some soup later.”

“I don’t think I’ll be alive later,” Lance groans pushing the bowl out of the way to drop his head onto the cereal. “Make sure I’m cremated, Hunk. No burying me in the yard with all your other full moon victims.”

Hunk rolls his eyes. “Pretty sure you’re gonna make it, Drama Queen. You’ve survived worse than the sniffles.”

“Like a giant, toothy furball beating me with a dead deer?”

“How long are you gonna hold that over my head?”

“Depends on how good your soup is later,” Lance mumbles, inadvertently agreeing that he’ll be around for later.

He isn’t dying. He’s just grumpy because he’s already exhausted and the day hasn’t even started yet. 

* * *

Okay, maybe he is actually dying.

By the time lunch rolls around, Lance is so congested it feels like his face is packed with tar. He can’t breathe from his nose at all and yet it keeps running. The cold air he’s forced to inhale through his mouth is as coarse as steel wool against an increasingly sore throat.

He shivers with the onset of chills and regrets that he didn’t put on a warmer jacket. Actually eating at lunch is even less appealing than breakfast was so he finds himself taking the opportunity to study for his anthropology test instead. He squints over his notes in the courtyard, but the letters seem to squiggle and blur.

He can’t attach any meaning to the words he’s probably going to have to define. Focusing on studying is a chore for Lance to begin with and a burgeoning cold doesn’t make it any easier. He should be memorizing the facts jotted on his flashcards but he’s just starting at them blankly, trying to force them to make sense around the headache that throbs dully between his temples.

He sneezes and the cards go flying from his hands anyway, an inconveniently brisk breeze blowing them into the courtyard garden. Lance groans and hauls himself off the bench, crawling through dirt and wood chips. Some of the plants have thorns that snag on his clothes and jab down to the skin.

He crawls around like a drunken toddler, gathering up his flashcards while his nose leaks rivers all the while.

Once he has them back, he has to pack everything up and get to his next class anyway. 

* * *

Lance coughs and sneezes through most of his test, the other students shooting him dirty looks when the volume of his ailment interrupts the silence. If he were feeling up to it he’d be embarrassed, but the truth is that he feels so bad he can’t put in the effort to care.

He can barely care about his test, which is even harder to focus on than studying was. Being inside does nothing to ebb at the chill that seeps in like frostbite beneath the skin. His lungs are leaden with phlegm that the coughs do nothing to break up and simply lifting his pencil is an exercise in fatigue.

Somehow Lance finishes before the time is up and turns it in, slogging his way to Humanities. Thankfully, it’s the last class of the day.

It’s a class he’s got with Pidge, which can be good or bad depending on the day. Today it could be good if she copies her notes for him and helps him with work he’s too fuzzy to get a grasp on. On the other hand, today it could be bad if she pokes at his disheveled appearance or rebukes him for being a walking biohazard.

She’s already in her seat when he comes plodding over, textbook out and pen tucked behind her ear. Lance slumps into the chair next to hers and means to greet her, but just ends up grating out a coughing fit.

“Yikes,” she says, scrunching up her nose.

“Yeah, I know,” Lance sighs, clearing his throat. He pulls the textbook out of his bag and sets it on his desk. “What page are we on?”

“Uh, Lance?” Pidge’s frown deepens. “That’s your anatomy book.”

“Oh,” is all he can say. He doesn’t even have that class today.

Sniffling, he takes the sodden, crumbled ball of tissue left from the otherwise depleted pack and dabs at his nose.

“You look like a zombie,” Pidge scolds. “Why are you even here?”

Lance shrugs, not even sure anymore. He had a test but frankly, the real test has just been getting through the day. His head weighs heavier than a bag of bowling balls on his shoulders and his throat’s been rendered raw between the coughing and the mouth-breathing. His chest is starting to hurt and even his nose is tender from all the wiping and blowing.

Pidge slides out of her seat and plants her chilly hand on Lance’s forehead, indifferent to the odd glances she gets from other students.

“Your hands are freezing,” he grouses, weakly batting at her.

“No, you’re burning up!” she hisses.

Lance has a sudden sneezing spell that comes on too fast for him to warn her about and Pidge gasps as she’s hit with the spray. She hurries back to her seat and scrabbles for the keychain hand sanitizer on her backpack, squirting about half the small bottle onto her palm. She slathers it between her fingers and up her wrists, vigorously rubbing it in.

“Should’ve kept your icicle fingers away me,” Lance croaks, resorting to blowing his nose into a piece of loose leaf paper because the crumply tissue ball is done for.

Pidge flicks her pink eraser at him and it boinks him bullseye, right in the middle of his forehead.

“Ow.”

She slips her phone out and quickly taps at the screen, and Lance loses track of paying attention to her in the mire of another coughing fit. His ribs squeeze uncomfortably tight and it’s a loud, chesty spasm. He tries not to be disruptive by covering his mouth with his elbow, but he’s still getting a lot of stares.

“I texted Hunk,” she tells him when he’s through.

“Huh?”

“He’s gonna come get you.”

“How come?” Lance snorts up what feels like a pint of mucus and rests his chin in his hands.

“I don’t know, maybe because you’re so sick you don’t even know what class we’re in.”

Lance pauses, belatedly realizing she’s right. This is something he should know. He glances down to his textbook for guidance.

“Anatomy, right?”

Pidge blinks wide eyes at him. She reaches over to pat his back, bottom lip sucked between her teeth.

“Hang in there, Lance.”

“M’kay.”

He gives paying attention to their lecture his best shot, but it’s just not happening. His ears are all plugged up again. It feels like his bones have turned to solid ice and shivers run up and down his spine like sled dogs.

Pidge is right and eventually Hunk comes to get him. It should be embarrassing, his best friend coming to fetch him like his mother, as though he’s a kid in elementary rather than a newly-minted adult in college. But all Lance can feel is relief when Hunk drapes his jacket over his shoulders and carries his backpack for him.

* * *

“You weren’t this sick this morning,” Hunk says for about the fifth time, Lance thinks, although it’s hard to keep track of his nervous rambling.

“Came on fast,” he mumbles, shrugging and leaning back as far as the passenger’s seat will go.

“The flu comes on fast, you think it’s the flu?” Hunk prattles on, stealing glances at Lance as he drives. “Whatever you’ve got, you’ve got it bad. You look like you just crawled out of the swamp.”

“Feel like I just crawled out of the swamp,” Lance agrees, covering his hand with a fist as another coughing fit rattles in his chest.

“Do you need a doctor? I can take you to the clinic, or the emergency room, or—“

“Hunk,” Lance breaks in. “I just wanna go home.”

“Are you sure? You sound even worse than you look, what if it’s pneumonia? Or bird flu, or swine flu, or Q fever—“

“Hey,” Lance interrupts again. “I tried to tell you I was dying this morning. You didn’t believe me.”

“You weren’t dying this morning!”

“No, but I'm psychic and I knew I’d be dying by now.” Lance turns his head and gives his friend a gentle look. “I’m still psychic so believe me when I say I’m gonna feel a lot better once we’re home, okay?”

“Alright. Just one stop first.”

Lance waits in the car while Hunk makes a pharmacy run. He turns the heat up to full blast but it’s still not enough to soothe the chills. He feels like there are blizzards in his bloodstream, freezing him from the inside out.

Even under his jacket and Hunk’s combined, he still can’t get warm.

* * *

Lance flops on the futon and watches Hunk dump out the contents of his shopping bags. Tissues, cough medicine, nasal spray, pediatric electrolytes…?

“That stuff’s for babies,” Lance mutters petulantly. “Literal, infant babies.”

“But it’s going to keep you hydrated,” Hunk insists. “Besides, I got it in blue raspberry. It’s your favorite flavor.”

“Favorite flavor of candy,” Lance argues. “Not baby drinks…”

“You’ll thank me when you don’t get dehydrated.” Hunk pulls the final item out of the last bag and tosses it to Lance. “There. Take your temperature.”

Lance picks the package up from the futon and turns it around, raising a brow.

“Ear thermometer? No forehead swipe?”

“The forehead swipers work better for kids, everybody knows that,” Hunk says practically, gathering up the bags to store in the pantry.

Lance ruefully buries some coughs into his fist. “So you had to get me an age appropriate thermometer, but you couldn’t get me a normal, age appropriate sports drink?”

“Sports drinks are loaded with sugar.” Hunk picks up the blue baby drink and pointedly waggles it from side to side, liquid sloshing. “This is loaded with electrolytes.”

“Whatever.” Lance doesn’t have the energy to keep protesting.

He rips the package open, takes his temperature even though he prefers the swipers. He isn’t a big fan of the reading and the tiny digital numbers seem to taunt him. He’s not sure if he drops it on purpose or on accident, but one way or the other, the brand new thermometer ends up on the still kinda new rug. As hideous as it is, the hot pink zebra print is growing on him.

Or maybe that’s just delirium.

“Lance?” Hunk’s frowning at him again, concerned. “You okay?”

He sneezes. It’s not the intended reply, but it probably serves well enough. The next thing he knows, Hunk is pushing a cup of the blue baby drink into his hands. Lance isn’t sure if the crazy straw he popped in there makes it better or worse. He can’t taste it much, but what he can taste is kind of like a melted popsicle.

The nasal spray makes him sneeze but it clears him up pretty fast. Something Lance almost regrets when he takes the cough medicine, because now he can actually taste and it tastes the way he imagines old bubblegum stuck to the sidewalk tastes like.

Hunk sets his bed up while he changes into more comfortable clothes, making sure to stack the pillows so Lance won’t drown in his own phlegm and putting not one, but two boxes of tissue in reach. Lance feels a little better when he clambers into bed, but as cozy as his knitted blanket is, it’s not enough to chase away his chills.

He has this weird mental image of Jack Frost and Elsa fighting a battle inside his body, turning his organs to icebergs and his blood to slush. But that mental image shifts and then instead of fighting each other, they’re fighting his germs. For some reason his germs look like purple space aliens. Briefly Lance wonders if he's actually delirious. 

“I’m gonna get you another blanket,” Hunk says, turning to go.

Lance’s hands are clumsy but he manages to catch the hem of Hunk's shirt.

“Wait,” he pleads quietly. “I need more.”

“Two? Three?”

“More. C’mon, buddy, my teeth are chattering.”

“Well we only have so many, but…” Hunk trails off, realization dawning. “Oh. You want me to do the thing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t know, I was gonna make you some soup. I can’t do that if I’m all,” Hunk makes a face and mimes, his fingers curved like claws. “Savage.”

Lance snorts, somewhat thickly. “Savage for an oversized space heater, maybe. Hurry up, mi lobo, I’m freezing here.”

Hunk pauses, considering, but Lance knows he’s won. Hunk can never resist his puppy eyes when he’s healthy, let alone when he’s this miserable and pathetic.

“Okay, fine.”

Hunk strips and Lance regards the following transformation with little interest, mostly just impatient to have his breathing furnace back. He’s seen it all before a million times, the fur that sprouts through Hunk’s skin, the contortion and bulging of his body as it changes shape and grows. Most people would find it downright horrifying, but to Lance it’s only moderately more interesting than buttering toast in the morning.

Fully transformed, Hunk hops onto the bed. He fusses as much as he can as a beast, nosing at Lance’s cheeks and licking the perspiration from his forehead. Lance rolls onto his side and angles himself so it’s easier for Hunk to curl up. Hunk does just that, gently curling up around Lance.

Lance pillows his head against Hunk’s neck and sighs out in relief as he’s swaddled by the solace of werewolf body heat. The warmth bakes off Hunk in waves, altering the cartoony sequence in his mind. He sees himself on the beach, lounging on a towel as the sun kisses his back with balmy beams. Hunk’s fur is thicker than fleece and Lance feathers his fingers through it as he clings to him, soaking up all the heat he can.

Eventually he stops shaking long enough to fall asleep. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring a heavily drunk and long-haired Shiro. Why long-haired Shiro? 
> 
> Tbh, I just really liked his design with long hair. Hopefully he doesn't seem too OOC, but to be fair, he's totally shit-faced and I know when I'm shit-faced I definitely do things I don't normally do. I cried over a piece of freaking pepperoni bread and flashed my boss (thankfully in the privacy of her home), so you know. 
> 
> There's no accounting for behavior under the influence.

Lance squints at the thing in Hunk’s mouth, trying to decipher it in the moonlight.

“Is that the flip-flop I lost last year?”

Yep, it is. The thing is caked in dirt but Lance recognizes its shape.

“Huh. Wonder where you found that.”

Hunk briefly glances to him and then resumes his mission to bury it, pacing back and fourth with apparent uncertainty as to where he wants it buried. Lance doesn’t try to stop him. He doesn’t need some grotty flip-flop.

He is a little curious on why Hunk is so intent on burying everything though. He’s been transformed for a couple hours now and he’s already buried a pair of pants, some litter he found in the woods, a rotting carcass also found in the woods, and the plastic lawn flamingo.

Burying things isn’t exactly atypical behavior for Hunk on the full moon, but this many things in a row is a bit much.

“I just hope you’re not nervous about anything,” he sighs as Hunk begins digging.

Hunk tends to get compulsive when his anxiety flares up. Compulsive cooking, or cleaning, or lifting. Lance hopes this isn’t compulsive digging. He’s pretty good at reading Hunk when he’s like this, but it isn’t a perfect science. He has to pay close attention even when it seems like everything’s okay, because if there is something wrong, Hunk can’t tell him.

Hunk dumps the old flip-flop in the hole and pushes the dirt over it with his muzzle, tail stuck out parallel with the ground. He moves a mound of dirt over it and in a motion more person than beast, pats it down with his forepaw. His big body swings around as he ducks toward the woods again, but Lance whistles him back.

Hunk pauses, one ear swiveling around.

“C’mere, buddy,” Lance beckons brightly.

Hunk turns and trots up to him, affectionately shoving his big snout in Lance’s face. Lance scratches between his ears and ruffles his fingers though the thick mane of Hunk’s neck fur.

“You okay?” he asks as he continues petting him. “Are you digging cause it’s fun or cause you’re freaking out?”

Hunk tips his head, almost as though he’s trying to understand the words. He then gently paws at Lance’s chest, claws snagging in his jacket.

“Whoa there, let’s watch those.” Lance pushes his foreleg back and gives him a scrutinizing once over.

His body language doesn’t seem particularly perturbed. Perhaps he is just enjoying himself, burying all this stuff. The fact that he came over to Lance is a good sign, even better that he’s being affectionate. An anxious Hunk in full moon mode is one that would more than likely avoid Lance.

He seems okay, tail thumping as Lance pets him, gaze alert but not unsettled. Eventually he pulls away and goes back to sniffing around the yard, but it isn’t a hasty departure. He’s fine.

Okay, good. Lance just had to be sure.

Hunk picks up what Lance is pretty sure is a pinecone and starts to dig another hole by the first copse of trees before it really turns into the forest.

“Weirdo,” Lance puffs fondly, watching the tornado of dirt swirl behind plowing paws.

His phone buzzes, illuminating the fabric of his pocket. He slips it out, sees it’s Shiro, and makes the reluctant decision to ignore it. Shiro is great and he’d love to hang out with him, or schedule some time to volunteer at the rescue, but the timing is bad.

He’s on solo werewolf babysitting duty tonight. Pidge is stuck with the flu Lance regrettably passed on to her and Keith is off on some camping trip with his mom. His mom is an infrequent visitor because of her job. Whenever she does visit, everybody pretty much stays out of Keith’s way so he can soak up their time together.

What exactly her job is, Lance doesn’t know. Keith’s mom is a serious looking lady so he figures she’s probably some kind of secret spy or international assassin. Keith always rolls his eyes when he suggests as much, but he himself doesn’t know what she does. From where Lance is standing, it’s pretty weird for a mom not to tell her grown son what she does for a living, so it’s got to be something sketchy, right?

Shiro’s call ends. The screen darkens. Then it buzzes and immediately brightens up again as he calls back.

Okay, usually Shiro isn’t that persistent. Maybe it’s important. Swiping his tongue over his lips, Lance picks up.

“Hey.”

“Lance,” Shiro slurs. “Hey, hi. S’going on?”

Lance pauses, picking up the sound of pounding music in between Shiro’s thick breaths.

“Uh, not much,” he says as he watches Hunk poke around for something else to bury. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, jus’ embarrassed.” Shiro heaves a heavy sigh. “M’never like this.”

Hunk finds a large rock and starts rolling it with his snout.

“You drunk?” Lance guesses. If he’s not drunk than he’s high or mad sick, or something, because his syllables sloppily smash into one another, so opposite from Shiro’s normal authoritative eloquence that his voice is barely recognizable.

“Very. I know that’s not good, m’so sorry. Didn’t mean to get this messed up, but now I can’t drive, n’ Keith’s gone, n’ Allura’s gone…can you pick me up?”

“Uh…” Lance watches Hunk dig up another hole and sucks a hiss between his teeth. “Aw, buddy, I’m a little tied up right now. Think you can get an Uber?”

“Left m’card at the rescue,” Shiro mumbles ruefully. “S’okay though, I can walk.”

Various images of a very drunk Shiro stumbling into traffic, face-planting on the concrete, and going to the wrong house tear through Lance’s mind in a riptide.

“No! Don’t walk, I’m coming to get you!”

“You sure? S’okay if you can’t. M’not gonna be mad.”

“I’ll come, I just need a few minutes to take care of some stuff first. Where are you at?”

“The bar.”

Lance slaps his free hand to his forehead.

“Okay,” he says patiently. “Which bar?”

“…M’not sure,” Shiro admits tiredly.

“Wow, you’re freaking wasted.”

“I know,” Shiro says, fraught with guilt and embarrassment. “M’sorry. Damn it, m’setting a bad example.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Lance tries to reassure him, softening his tone. “I just need to know where to get you, Shiro. Do you know what area you’re in, at least?”

“Mm…there’s a giant sock on the place next door.”

It takes Lance’s brain a minute to work this out, but when he does, there’s relief. Shiro isn’t that far. He’s at this dumpy dive next to the coin laundry. They’re overpriced and Lance thinks their fried pickles suck, but maybe that’s just because he’s been spoiled by Hunk’s cooking.

“Okay, I know where you are. Drink some water or something, and I’ll call you when I get there.”

“Thanks, Lance.”

“No prob,” he says, even as he watches Hunk dig up another hole.

Shiro never asks for help unless he really needs it, and sometimes not even then. Lance isn’t the kind of person who leaves his friends hanging. Even when they have awful timing.

He pockets his phone and stands up from the steps, exhausted simply from watching Hunk tear up the yard like a bulldozer on crack. There’s no way he can just leave him here to do this. Who knows what he’ll bury without Lance keeping him in check?

As much as he doesn’t want to, he has to put Hunk inside. He can’t be out here unsupervised. The litter he found earlier proves people have been in the woods. The last thing Lance needs is Hunk scaring somebody into calling animal control.

Leaving Hunk unsupervised inside isn't much better, as the ravaged floor beneath their ugly rug can attest to. There’s always the risk he will just up and tear a hole in the trailer if he wants outside bad enough. But Shiro isn’t far away, so as long as Hunk’s got something to keep him occupied, he should be okay.

Lance rolls his tire out of the shed and hefts it up onto his shoulder. He trudges up the steps and drops it on the linoleum, turning on his heel. Holding the door open, he calls excitedly for Hunk.

“Here, buddy! Want your tire?”

Hunk lifts his head, dirt falling off his muzzle. His eyes zero in on the tire and then he’s charging over like a racehorse. Lance has to dive out of the way as he leaps over the threshold, a sonic streak of dark chocolate brown. Shelves rattle on the wall when Hunk tackles the tire, the salt and pepper shakers tumbling right off the counter.

Lance replaces them and then hurries out the door while Hunk is distracted, rubber squeaking under chomping jaws.

* * *

 Shiro is waiting outside when Lance pulls up, hunched over on a bench with his head between his knees. Music from a live band blasts through the open windows of the bar, accented by the sounds of clinking glasses and cheering partygoers. They sound a lot happier than Shiro looks.

“Hey,” Lance greets, sidling up and patting Shiro’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Shiro slowly raises his head, eyes glassy and bloodshot. He’s washed pale in the hue of the neon open sign, the scar across the bridge of his nose seeming unusually shiny.

“Had too much to drink,” he confesses, slurring.

“Yeah,” Lance says gently. “But it’s okay, that’s why I’m here. You ready to go?”

Shiro nods and pushes himself up from the bench, lurching forward. He stumbles over himself and Lance quickly grabs his arm to steady him.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, man. I mean, how many times have you bailed me out of my bad decisions?”

“Mm…a lot.” Shiro agrees, nodding like a bobblehead.

“Exactly. I don’t mind the role-reversal once in a while.”

Shiro squeezes his eyes shut, suddenly tensing against Lance.

“Uh-oh. You gonna throw up?”

There’s a long pause and then Shiro shakes his head. He still looks pale and uncomfortable, and Lance is not convinced.

“Are you sure?”

Shiro nods.

“Okay,” Lance says reluctantly.

He helps Shiro to the car and ushers him into the passengers’ seat. Shiro tries to buckle his seatbelt but he’s fumbling. It doesn’t help that his dominant hand is a prosthetic, and while he can usually grip decently since it’s one of the fancy ones with a battery and a motor in there, he’s disoriented and unbalanced. Lance leans over the seat and gets it for him.

“Sorry m’useless.”

“You’re not useless and stop apologizing.” Lance offers a smile and pats his shoulder. “It’s all good. Just chill out, enjoy the ride until I get you home.”

Lance goes around and slides into the driver’s seat, turning the key in the ignition. There aren’t too many cars around right now, so he pushes the speed limit. Hopefully Hunk is still chewing on his tire and hasn’t moved on to destroy anything else.

Shiro rolls the window down and rests his head against the door, the wind ruffling through his hair.

“I’ve never seen you smashed before,” Lance says plainly, sparing Shiro a glance as he taps his thumbs against the steering wheel.

If he weren’t worried about whatever Hunk might be doing to the trailer right now, he’d be more invested in the surrealism of the whole thing. Shiro usually played designated driver whenever they went out as a group, and he never really got more than buzzed when they’d drink at Allura’s place. He never took more than a hit on the infrequent occasions Lance scored a joint. It’s pretty weird to see him so fucked up he can’t buckle his own seatbelt.

“Bad day,” Shiro mumbles.

“You wanna talk about it?” Lance asks, frowning.

Shiro bows forward, cradling his forehead in his flesh hand. He makes a sudden hiccupy sound, his shoulders quivering.

“Crap!” Lance gasps, blinking rapidly in bewilderment. He’s never seen Shiro cry before either. “Sorry, man! Never mind, you don’t have to talk about it.”

“I put a dog down,” Shiro blubbers, breaking down into sobs. “Cookie had parvo n’ she was already so weak. Shit’s so contagious, couldn’t let it spread to the other dogs. I didn’t have a choice.”

Oh, that explains everything. Shiro pours his heart and soul into his rescue, it’s bound to hit him hard when there’s a dog he can’t save.

“Aw, Shiro.” Lance worries his lip between his teeth. “You tried your best. You always do.”

“She shoulda been vaccinated,” Shiro croaks, a helpless anger bleeding through his sobs. “Fuckin’ assholes shouldn’t have dogs.”

“Cookie had owners?” Lance asks, turning onto Shiro’s street.

“Had a collar when we found her, but no tags n’ no chip.” Shiro sighs heavily and deflates in the seat, tears and mucus rolling down his chin.

“You gave her peace,” Lance consoles softly. “All dogs go to heaven, remember?”

Shiro cracks a weak smile and Lance pulls into the driveway of his duplex. Shiro struggles with the seatbelt again and Lance wordlessly releases it for him. He manages to get out of the car okay, but he doesn’t even make it five steps before he doubles over with a horrible retching noise.

Lance hurries out of the car and darts to Shiro’s side, grabbing him before he can face-plant into the puddle of his stomach contents.

“Easy there, man. You good?”

Shiro shakes his head and snaps forward, bringing up another torrent of regurgitation. Lance wrinkles his nose and turns away, but keeps his grip on Shiro. Shiro throws up a third time, spew wetly slapping the concrete. Lance is immensely grateful that this didn’t happen ten seconds ago in his car.

He gives it a minute to make sure Shiro’s stomach is actually settled, and then he leads him up the porch. Shiro reaches for his back pocket and freezes as his fingers slip inside, his face going weird.

“Oh.”

“What?” Lance asks.

“Left my key at the rescue.”

“What!?”

“S’on my desk,” Shiro mutters, scrubbing his flesh hand over his eyes. “M’sorry. Can’t believe I forgot it.”

Lance rubs the back of his neck, absently figuring that Hunk’s probably torn the trailer to shreds by now. He can’t just leave Shiro here, locked out and wobbling with puke clinging to his chin. Bringing Shiro back to the most likely destroyed trailer while Hunk is in full moon mode isn’t the best option, but it’s the only option.

“Guess you’re spending the night with me tonight.” Lance puts an arm around Shiro’s shoulders.

There’s a slow pause and then Shiro tips his head, staring at Lance with bleary eyes.

“Just you? Hunk’s not around?”

“Um…Well, he’s busy tonight,” Lance settles on.

It isn’t exactly a lie. Hopefully he’s busy tearing up his tire and not the trailer.

* * *

Lance helps Shiro out of the car, hiking his arm over his shoulder and shepherding him in the direction of the trailer. From the outside it seems intact. This is a good sign.

Shiro was drowsy most of the ride back and he’s drowsy still, plodding tiredly along Lance and occasionally slurring some more apologies. This is also a good thing. Hopefully Shiro’s so out of it he won’t notice Hunk and if he does, Lance will probably be able to steer him to bed before he can think too much about it.

He hauls Shiro up the steps as with as much grace as he can and drags him inside. Hunk’s tire has finally seen its dying day, he discovers, as he treads on a chunk of chewed rubber. There’s a trail of chunks that leads to the living room, where Hunk’s using his muzzle to push them under the futon.

The futon cover’s been clawed at, but thankfully it seems his claws didn’t penetrate down to the actual cushion. There’s no stuffing or sponge spilling out.

Shiro perks up a bit and follows Lance’s gaze, blinking slowly at the creature in the living room.

“Okay, let’s get you to bed.” Lance tries to tug him down the hallway, but Shiro digs his heels in.

“Wait,” he mutters, squinting at Hunk through his drunken stupor.

Hunk finishes hiding the remains of his tire and turns his attention to them, head cocking and tail thumping the floor.

“That’s a werewolf,” Shiro declares with vague interest.

“Uh, no it’s not.” Lance tries to pull Shiro again, but he doesn’t budge, just keeps staring at Hunk.

“Why’s there a werewolf?” he asks, sounding more perplexed than concerned.

“There’s not,” Lance insists, finally managing to get Shiro a few steps down the hall. “You’re just super drunk, that’s all.”

“Drunk or not, there’s a werewolf,” Shiro insists stubbornly.

“I can assure you my dear, inebriated friend, there is not,” Lance says as smoothly as he can.

He’s already let Hunk’s secret slip to three people without permission and it’s becoming a habit he has to break. Lance is going to do his best to keep it this time, which he feels like he can considering Shiro’s so messed up, he might not even remember come morning.

Shiro stalls in the middle of the hall, turning back again.

“Lance—“

“Nope,” Lance cuts him off, nudging him another step further. “There’s no werewolf and it’s bedtime for you.”

“Lance, m’gonna puke,” Shiro groans, brows slanting in discomfort as he slaps a hand over his mouth.

Crap. Lance quickly ushers him into the bathroom, but Shiro doesn’t make it to the toilet. He stumbles over the threshold and crashes heavily to his knees with a thud so loud it’s painful. He makes an awful gagging noise and pitches forward, throwing up all over the tile just in front of the porcelain throne.

Lance crouches down and lays a hand to his back.

“Just ride it out, man. I have a mop, it’s okay.”

Shiro slumps against the side of the bathtub, sighing out.

“M’sorry.”

“Dude, for real, stop apologizing.”

Shiro starts to sit up again and winces, dropping back.

“Hey, you okay?”

“S’just my arm. Usually have it off by now.”

“Oh. Yeah, it’s pretty heavy, huh?”

Shiro gives a small nod. He still seems embarrassed about throwing up.

“Well that’s why you’ve got such a rock hard bod,” Lance teases lightly, hoping to help him relax.

It earns a faint smile.

“So, you wanna help me take your arm off?” Lance plies. “Get nice and comfortable?”

Shiro nods and rolls up his sleeve. He’d lost the arm to a shark right above the elbow. The prosthetic fits over his bicep and Lance takes it carefully, tugging it off. It’s much heavier than it looks. Probably because of the motors and stuff, Lance figures.

Shiro seems slightly more comfortable without it though, exhaling a gentle breath as he massages his flesh fingers into the stump. Lance stands and turns to put it away, only to find Hunk blocking the doorway. All the noise must’ve alerted him.

He wedges his big body into the small room even as Lance lets out a squawk of protest, ears perked.

“Back up,” he mutters, nudging him with his knee.

Hunk has other ideas. He lowers his head and sniffs at Shiro’s vomit, which is pretty disgusting, but Hunk likes all sorts of disgusting things when he’s in full moon mode, and it’s not the grossest thing Lance has ever seen him do. Far from.

“Big ass werewolf,” Shiro says flatly. He doesn’t seem perturbed by Hunk’s presence in the least.

It’s better than being scared of him, though Lance would prefer if he hadn’t seen him at all. That’s not all Shiro’s fault though. Hunk just had to poke his head in.

“No, this is…my sister’s dog,” Lance covers, setting Shiro’s arm down on the sink as he tries to push Hunk back through the doorway. “I’m watching him while she’s on vacation.”

Lance leans his shoulder into Hunk’s flank and grunts as he shoves with all his body weight, but it does nothing. Hunk doesn’t even budge. He just lifts his head and snuffles into Shiro’s hair, pushing some of the long strands falling into his face.

“Dogs’re my specialty, Lance,” Shiro mumbles, slack and unconcerned as Hunk licks his face. “I know dogs. This?”

He points to Hunk. “No dog. Werewolf.”

“I’m telling you, Shiro, he’s a dog.” Lance gives up trying to move Hunk and runs a tired hand through his hair. “He’s just crazy big because his old owners had him on steroids.”

“Friendly werewolf,” Shiro says when Hunk nuzzles against his cheek, ignoring Lance entirely. He reaches up to rub at Hunk’s belly.

It’s an appreciated gesture. Hunk rolls onto his back, upper body pinning Shiro’s legs to the floor and tail violently swishing back and fourth as his tongue lolls out of his mouth.

“Is he hurting you?” Lance worries.

“Nah. He’s heavy, but this’ll only take a sec.” Shiro scrubs his hands through the beast’s belly fur, humming an idle tune off key.

Lance takes the opportunity to go, carefully weaving around Hunk’s flailing hinds. He sets Shiro’s prosthetic arm on the coffee table and fetches a mop and bucket from the closet to take care of the bathroom mess.

“Hey, Lance?” Shiro asks when he comes back, eyes glinting curiously.

“Yeah?”

“Is this Hunk?”

Lance mentally screams. “I told you, this is my sister’s dog! Where the heck would you get that idea?”

Keith hasn’t let it slip, has he? Lance knows how close they are. Not that it matters much. It wasn’t his secret to tell and if he did, Lance is gonna be pissed. And Hunk will probably be twice as pissed.

Shiro finishes Hunk’s belly rub with a gentle pat. “It looks just like him.”

“What?” Lance squawks. “No way!”

Full Moon Hunk looks nothing like Average Hunk. Okay, so maybe his fur color and his hair color are close, although his fur’s more brown in most places. And he’s still pretty husky as a werewolf, probably couldn’t swim otherwise. But to Lance, that’s the end of the visual similarity. If he hadn’t grown up with him, he wouldn’t be able to recognize him like this.

Shiro seems to disagree, however. He arches a skeptical brow at Lance.

“You don’t see it?”

“See the resemblance between Hunk and my sister’s dog?” Lance scoffs. “No, I don’t. It’s time for him to go out and you to go to bed.”

Lance puts the mop and bucket down and trots back to the front door before Shiro can protest. He props it open with a sturdy stool and whistles.

“C’mon, buddy! Outside!”

Hunk comes thundering down the hall, claws clacking and trailer reverberating under the force of his paws. He jumps off the steps and flies into the woods, shearing through the shrubs in his path. Lance leaves the door propped so Hunk can come and go as he pleases, and returns to Shiro.

Shiro’s gotten up, swaying as he picks up the bucket.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning.”

“No, I got it.” Lance squeezes his shoulder, like Shiro always does for him when there’s something he’s down about. “You should get settled so you can sleep this off. You’re gonna have a hell of a hangover in the morning.”

“It’s my mess,” Shiro says uncertainly.

Lance rolls his eyes and loops his arm over Shiro’s shoulders, steering him into his room. He gently pushes him down to the mattress and at this point, Shiro isn’t fighting it anymore. He allows Lance to take his shoes off, and even his jeans off.

He nestles his face into the pillow as Lance covers him with the comforter. Lance fills up a glass of water and grabs the ibuprofen, placing both on the nightstand within reach.

“I could take the couch,” Shiro mumbles, but his eyelids are falling closed and Lance isn’t sure he could force himself up even if he wanted to.

“Nah, I’ll be good in Hunk’s room.”

“Hunk the werewolf,” Shiro slurs.

“Nah.” Lance shakes his head. “You’re drunk, that’s all.”

“Maybe…”

Lance turns the light off and heads back to the bathroom. He mops up Shiro's puke, dumps he bucket, and then shuffles to the living room for some well earned relaxation. He plops down on the futon and flicks the television on, pulling up some of his recorded telenovelas. Before he can sift through and pick one, Hunk comes bounding back up the steps.

He shuffles into the living room to check out what Lance is doing, peering at him with bright eyes.

“Well you’ve been doing some more digging,” Lance says, glancing down.

Mud coats Hunk’s paws, pasting his fur down flat and sticking to his claws.

“Wonder what you buried this time,” Lance chuckles.

Lance sits up to pet him, setting the remote down on the coffee table and then instantly freezing as realization floods through him.

Shiro’s arm is gone.

Lance knows he put it on the coffee table. But said table is now cleared aside from the remote he just set down and a few streaks of mud and grass.

_Shiro's arm is gone._

“No,” Lance gasps, blood running cold as he turns a stare on Hunk. “No, no, no. Oh no, tell me you didn’t bury Shiro’s super scientific, totally expensive prosthetic in the dirt.”

Hunk merely wags his tail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am also into the fanon that Shiro loves dogs. I'm glad that one's pretty widespread because it's just so wholesome.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being Lance is suffering.

Lance runs around like a chicken with its head cut off, dread mounting as he scrambles for supplies. He’s got a metal detector and a flashlight. Hopefully the shovel will still be in the shed. It’s closer to sunrise and he hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep, but leaving Shiro’s arm in the dirt simply isn’t an option.

“You big, furry idiot,” he groans tiredly, shooting Hunk an agitated look.

Hunk does not know nor care about the havoc he’s just caused. He doesn’t even stick around for Lance’s plight, he simply nudges him out of the way as he trots past, headed for the bedrooms. He almost ducks into his own and then pauses.

He gives a sniff and turns around, the short hallway seemingly shrinking around him. He bumps Lance’s door open with his snout and Lance sets his supplies down, hurrying over. He isn’t fast enough to stop Hunk from jumping on the bed, the box-spring creaking loudly.

Miraculously, Shiro sleeps through this. He doesn’t stir at the sound or awaken as he’s encircled by a mammoth lump of fur. He rolls, still asleep, toward Hunk, and unconsciously tucks into him, like he’s cuddling with one of his dogs.

It’s actually kind of cute. Or, well, it would be. If Lance weren’t exhausted and annoyed, and if it didn’t compromise Hunk’s secret.

“Really?” Lance whispers, exasperated. “Haven’t you done enough for one night?”

Hunk ignores him, orangish eyes sliding closed.

So that’s not working. Lance has to find Shiro’s arm pronto but he can’t exactly leave Hunk in here with him.

“Want a treat?” Lance tries instead, forcing a chipper tone.

Hunk cracks an eye open. But before Lance can get his hopes up, Shiro says something. It’s more of a mewl, just some garbled sleep gibberish, but it distracts Hunk. He snuffles at Shiro’s face and snuggles even closer, Shiro practically swaddled in brown-black fur.

He’s cozy. Full moon Hunk is just as cuddly as Average Hunk and this late in the night, he’s probably not going to give up a cozy spot, curled up around a warm body that smells like a friend. Not even for a snack.

Crap. It’s not like Lance can actually make him get up. He has the power of persuasion, but that’s about it. Hunk’s the size of a cow, he’s gonna move when he wants to and Lance can’t do anything.

“If Shiro finds out, it’s your fault,” he mutters, fully knowing Hunk couldn’t understand him even if he were paying attention.

Lance supposes he’ll have to deal with it later. He goes back to get the metal detector and the flashlight, hurries to the shed. Luckily the shovel is where he remembered it. Even the handle of that is peppered with chew marks.

Hopefully Hunk didn’t chew on Shiro’s arm at all. Hopefully it’s intact and not too dirty.

Lance awkwardly juggles his arsenal, holding the flashlight between his teeth with the metal detector in one hand and the shovel in the other. The sky overhead has the first tint of lightness to indicate the sun is on its way back up. His eyelids droop heavily with the need to sleep. Even packed with a bodybuilder of a friend and a werewolf, Lance can hear his bed calling his name.

But insurance probably doesn’t cover Shiro’s prosthesis. Lance can’t just leave it out here wherever Hunk may have buried it. It’s partly his fault this happened in the first place, he shouldn’t have left it where Hunk could get to it. Hunk himself doesn’t know any better, until daybreak he’s got an animal brain.

The metal detector alerts him with its first shrill beep of hope and Lance jams the spade of the shovel into the dirt.

With any luck, this is it.

* * *

Lance’s arms wobble as he raises his arms beneath the grayish periwinkle of dawn. Sweat slides down his back, shirt glued to his skin as he plunges the shovel down to investigate what has to be the metal detector’s hundredth beep.

Please let this be it.

Lance digs desperately, fraught with the frail hope that what he uncovers will finally be Shiro’s arm.

The yard is littered with holes and he’s uncovered nothing of value.

An old coffee can.

A broken wrench.

A rusty chain.

He’s been digging for hours, muscles wilting and head wired. Lance’s heart leaps when the tip of his shovel hits something. He drops it and digs the object the rest of the way out with his hands. Disappointment sends his stomach plummeting like a stone as a familiar hooked beak peeks up at him.

“How?” Lance huffs heatedly. “Just how? You’re not even metal, you’re plastic!”

It’s the stupid lawn flamingo, staring back at him with blank glass eyes. Its legs, Lance realizes, are not in fact plastic like the main body, but made of rubber coated metal.

He’s never liked the flamingo, always thought its color looked too glaring, artificial when compared to the pastel pinks of real flamingos. But it was a housewarming present from Allura so it’s not like he could get rid of it. Besides, Hunk liked it. Liked it so much that he went and buried it in the yard.

Lance swipes the sweat from his forehead with his wrist and slumps, staring glumly at the holes scattered across the yard. He’s searched for hours and still, nothing. The entire yard is a map of holes and he didn’t find Shiro’s arm.

Lance knows what this means. Hunk didn’t bury the arm in the yard, he buried it in the woods. He cranes his neck over his shoulder and gazes into the forest, morning mist a gossamer shawl draped over the seemingly endless expanse of trees.

There’s no way he can find anything in there, metal detector or not. In the yard he had a chance, but in the woods, it could be literally anywhere. Hunk can cover a lot of ground back there, a hell of a lot more than Lance can. There’s so much foliage, shrubs and burrows, sand and caves.

There’s just so much.

Lance sighs lowly and slouches over the plastic flamingo in defeat, forehead kissing the dirt. He suspects to hear screaming from inside at any moment, provided Hunk stayed with Shiro all night. There’s no way Shiro could sleep through it if Hunk actually changed in the bed.

Heck, he seemed pretty convinced Hunk was a werewolf anyway, hard as Lance had tried to dissuade him.

He’s gonna be pissed about the arm. The thing certainly cost him a fortune. He’s going to have to do everything entirely one-handed for who knows how long until he can scrounge up the finances to get another prosthetic. Explaining its absence is going to be real fun, whether Shiro remembers seeing a werewolf or not.

Lance is utterly fatigued, his last drop of verve drained away with the digging. He could pass out right here in the dirt and the dew if he let himself. It sounds like a good idea. Just pass out, let his body get the rest it’s been begging for and get a reprieve from this mess…

Suddenly the trailer door creaks out and Lance flutters, blinking his eyes open.

“What’re you doing?” Hunk asks, back to being a person and buck ass nude.

“Go put some clothes on!”

“You’ve seen me naked like a thousand times, get over it.” Hunk rolls his eyes. “Seriously, what are you doing out here? It’s like five in the morning.”

“I’m trying to find Shiro’s arm because one of us decided to bury it,” Lance groans miserably. “Please tell me you remember where.”

“Um…not exactly,” Hunk says, sheepishly rubbing at the nape of his neck.

“Seriously!?” Lance exclaims. “You realize that thing was worth thousands of dollars, right!?”

“I know, I know!” Hunk grimaces, opposite hand tugging at his hair. “Look, I’m sure I can find it. I just have to translate the stuff I remember to concepts, like ‘Shiro’s arm.’ Last night, it wasn’t that to me, it was just this neat thing that smelled like Shiro.”

“Then transform and go sniff it out. You might as well, you’re already naked.”

Hunk shakes his head. “No, I just changed back! I’m sure I’ll remember where it is, I just need a minute to think about it.”

“Well, what I need is coffee.” Lance sighs, climbing to a stand on tired legs. “And I’m just saying, but it’d be way better to have it before he wakes up.”

“I don’t need to shift,” Hunk insists, eyes narrowing in concentration. “I’ll remember, I think I already have an inkling.”

“Man, I really hope it’s not all chewed up or filled with dirt. If it’s ruined, that’s not much better than it being missing.”

“If it’s where I’m thinking it is then we probably got lucky, but— Lance, watch it!”

Hunk’s warning is a millisecond too late. Lance’s step finds no purchase, his foot plunging in a hole. He sprawls forward, ankle twisting awkwardly beneath him. Arms spastically pinwheeling as he loses the reflexive fight to regain balance, Lance smacks the ground face first.

“That looked like it hurt!” Hunk calls, concerned.

Lance lifts his head, blinks the shooting stars from his sightline, and coughs out a mouthful of dirt and grass.

“It did.”

“Do you need help?”

Lance gets to his hands and knees first, then tries to stand. His ankle wobbles precariously, unstable and smarting something fierce.

“Ow…yeah.”

Hunk starts to trot down the steps and Lance automatically gives him the hand signal for ‘stay.’ Oddly enough, Hunk actually gives pause.

“Put some pants on first,” he demands.

“You’re on the ground, why does it matter if I have pants?” Hunk balks, perplexed.

“It just does!”

This is one of those werewolf things. They’re just way too comfortable being nude. This, this was why it was always so weird hanging out at Hunk’s place when they were kids. The house was literally full of people who could come strolling down the hall either as enormous beasts or in their birthday suits at any given moment.

Neither were ideal, but Lance always preferred the former.

“Alright, alright. I’ll put some pants on, but after I help you up.”

Hunk comes over and crouches and Lance gets his arms around his neck, piggybacking.

“You think it’s bad?” Hunk frets quietly.

“It hurts.” Lance mutters into his neck. “But not broke, I don’t think.”

Hunk gives another hum of concern and carries him to the trailer. The door swings closed behind them and there’s Shiro, plodding disheveled down the hall and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Are you guys always this loud this early?” he croaks.

He stops dead center when he actually gets a look at them, eyes widening.

Lance unhooks an arm from Hunk’s neck and pointedly gestures to Shiro’s startled face.

“That, Hunk. That is why pants matter.”

Shiro bashfully turns his head.

“S-Sorry. I didn’t realize you two, were, um,” he pauses, clears his throat. “In the middle of something.”

“We’re not,” Lance clarifies, mortified. “I just fell.”

Hunk drops him on the futon and at least has the decency to wrap the throw blanket around his waist for Shiro’s sake.

Shiro shyly peeks back at them. “I can go. Or, um, I don’t have my car, but I could give you a minute or…”

“it’s really not like that,” Hunk promises. “I’m just, uh…Okay, I’m a werewolf.”

Lance shoots him a surprised look.

Hunk looks back to him and gives a shrug. “Keith knows. He’d find out eventually.”

Hunk looks back to very dubious, wide-eyed Shiro and bobs his head. “Yeah, I’m a werewolf. I just got back to the person form a little bit ago, and I didn’t really have a chance to get dressed yet.”

Shiro blinks several times and then a perturbed frown folds his lips, brow furrowing.

“Hunk, Lance. If you’re together, you don’t have to hide it from me,” he says softly. “We’re friends, if anything, I’m happy for you. You certainly don’t need to make up crazy stories.”

Lance slaps his hands to his forehead, internally screaming, while Hunk just splutters some incoherent noises.

“Really?” he squawks. “Last night, I couldn’t do anything to convince you Hunk wasn’t a werewolf, and now you don’t believe him?”

Shiro shakes his head as he sidles into the kitchen, getting a cup of water. Possessing only one hand at the moment, he elbows the handle down to turn off the faucet.

“I don’t remember much of last night,” Shiro admits. “I do remember thinking I should call you, but I don’t actually remember coming over here. But I’m positive I would remember if I saw a real, live werewolf. Especially if it was Hunk.”

Unbelievable. When he’s too drunk to walk Lance can’t get him to stop crying “werewolf” but now, when Shiro’s clear headed, he somehow thinks he and Hunk are a thing.

“Hunk, just show him.” Lance rubs at his temples.

“No. I just changed back,” Hunk protests.

Lance gives him a pleading look and Hunk caves immediately. Hunk inhales, exhales, and starts sprouting fur. His face changes shape, nose and mouth protruding, canines growing. The throw falls away as he enlarges. His musculature bulges as it redistributes along his lengthening limbs.

The whole thing takes a few minutes. The tail is the last addition.

Shiro watches, unblinking and silently agape.

“Told you so,” Lance says smugly.

Shiro doesn’t reply. The cup slips right out of his hands and the plastic clatters loudly on the floor, water spilling across the linoleum. Hunk ambles over and lowers his head, lapping it up with a wide pink tongue.

“Oh,” Shiro breathes, still agape.

“Hopefully he’ll sniff out your arm.”

“What?” Shiro’s gaze flickers to Lance.

“Well, he, uh…buried your prosthetic…”

“He what!?” Shiro booms, jaw dropping.

Hunk looks up, ears swiveling back. Even if he doesn’t understand words, he understands tone. He can tell the difference between happy yelling and unhappy yelling, and he does not like the latter.

“My bad,” Lance sighs. “Should’ve made sure I put it somewhere safe. He gets into a lot of stuff when he’s like this…”

“This is too much for me too early,” Shiro says, visibly deflating. “The sun is barely up, I’m hungover, Hunk is a werewolf, and now you’re telling me he buried my arm. Lance, that arm is worth more than my car.”

Lance twinges with guilt.

“Hunk thought he might know where it was as a person,” he starts, trying to ease the tense lining of Shiro’s expression. “Which means, he still knows where it is. It just might take him a sec to remember he was looking for it. He’s still Hunk, Shiro. He just thinks more like an animal like this.”

“Did he destroy it?” Shiro worries, raking his hand through the curtain of his hair.

“I’m not sure,” Lance says wearily, watching Hunk as he winds around the coffee table, carelessly knocking it over. “I didn’t see him with it, but he could have.”

Shiro groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why.”

“Aw, Shiro, we’ll find it.” Lance starts to get up, gasps sharply as his ankle gives, and falters back to the futon.

Hunk’s head snaps up, ears briefly flicking back. He knows what pain sounds like and he doesn’t like that, either. He quickly hops onto the futon, squishing Lance’s lap as he nervously sniffs him over.

“You’re not helping, you’re just crushing me,” he grunts, helplessly shoving at his friend’s flank.

Hunk takes the hint. He hops down and gives the pant leg over Lance’s ankle a gentle lick, evidently remembering the injury.

“What’s wrong?” Shiro asks, coming over with a worried frown.

Lance waves a hand, blasé. “I just tripped. It’s nothing.”

“You couldn’t stand,” Shiro points out, righting the coffee table. “Let’s take a look at it.”

Lance shies, suddenly feeling fussed over. “We’ve got to find your arm.”

“It can wait,” Shiro dismisses, his focus now fixed on Lance. He’s always been like that, he drops his own problems the second he notices someone else struggling. Even hungover and missing a very expensive limb, he’ll put others before himself.

Hunk lies down and paws at something under the futon, whining as he can’t quite reach it. It’s probably a piece of his shredded tire, Lance figures. They’ll have to hit the dump to get another one.

Shiro steps around the werewolf’s haunches and Lance submits to his leg being lifted onto the table. Shiro carefully slips his shoe off and rolls up his pant leg. The flesh over the joint is pretty puffy, beige skin tinged with the reddish undercurrent of inflammation. Shiro gingerly probes at it, and that’s okay, but when he moves it slightly to test the range of motion, Lance hisses through his teeth.

“Probably sprained,” Shiro determines. “Try not to walk on it for a couple days.”

“I have class in a few hours,” Lance mutters ruefully. “And tomorrow.”

Hunk gives up trying to get whatever he wanted under the futon and wanders over to the door instead. He raises a paw to scratch and Lance calls a sharp, “no!” before his claws can carve the wood. Hunk backs up, submissively lowering his head.

“Shiro, can you prop that open so he can get out?”

Shiro blinks and then nods, shuffling over. He opens the door with his hand and kicks the bucket up against it, Hunk hurrying down the steps.

“Got a first aid kit?” Shiro raises a brow.

“Under the bathroom sink.”

Shiro goes off to get it and Lance adjusts, stretching out along the futon, scowling down at his ankle. If he didn’t want to skip class before, he definitely does now. He's fatigued with lack of sleep and he can’t stand. Hunk has class too, but in the evening. Something Lance will have to remind him of. If he doesn’t switch back by himself in the next half hour, he supposes he’ll have to get the clicker.

Shiro comes back with the first aid kit tucked under the short bit of arm that still remains under his right shoulder. Lance never knew him while he still had it, not personally. He’d known of him though, being a local surfing legend and all. He’s watched a couple of the competitions at the beach, cheered for him when he took first place.

He had a poster too. Actually he still has the poster, of a somewhat younger and both-armed Shiro posing in the sand with a sleek, majestically designed black surfboard. Allura had even gotten it signed for him. But now that they’re familiar with each other, it’s something Lance keeps rolled up under his bed and it’s something Shiro definitely never, ever needs to know about.

Shiro sets the kit on the table and pops it open. He passes the bottle of ibuprofen to Lance and fills another cup of water while Lance screws it open. They both take some and Lance helps Shiro wrap his ankle with an elastic bandage.

“Not too tight?” Shiro checks.

“Nah, it’s good.”

It’s tight enough that he can feel the support, but it isn’t so tight that it’s cutting off his circulation. Shiro gives him a sympathetic smile and stuffs a couple throw pillows under the injured limb.

“You could go back to bed,” Lance tells him. “I know you don’t feel good. Hunk and I can look for you arm.”

Shiro shakes his head. “You should stay put while you can. Besides, after seeing him turn into that, I’m wide awake.”

Lance snorts. “You’re so weird. Last night it didn’t bother you at all.”

“It doesn’t bother me now,” Shiro protests. “It was just unexpected, that’s all. I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

Hunk himself comes loping back up the steps, a dead squirrel hanging slack from his jaw. He prances up to Lance and places it on his chest, tail wagging. Lance sighs, wrinkling his nose as some of its blood seeps into his shirt. He’s too used to this to be horrified. He’s just fatigued and a little grossed out.

“Eighteen years,” he gripes, looking Hunk in the eye. “Eighteen years and you still don’t understand that forest critters aren’t on the menu for me.”

Hunk tips his head, huffing some noise and nosing at the squirrel on Lance’s chest. Some brain matter tumbles out of the puncture hole in its skull.

“Yeah, yeah. Some gift this is.” Lance rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky this is an old shirt.”

“Aww,” Shiro coos, his gaze melting as he watches.

“Aww?” Lance echoes in disbelief. “The hell, Shiro?”

“Well…that’s a sweet gesture coming from a canine.”

Shiro crouches and makes kissing noises at Hunk, who eagerly swings around and trots into his open arm.

“Who’s a good hunter?” Shiro coos, vigorously petting up and down Hunk’s back while the werewolf slathers his face in licks. “You are, you are!”

Hunk’s tail gleefully beats the air. Shiro keeps baby-talking him as Lance watches in bizarre fascination.

“My friends are weird,” he tells the dead squirrel, before throwing it out the open door.

It bounces down the steps and Hunk shuffles away from Shiro. For a moment Lance thinks he’s going to retrieve it. But to his surprise, Hunk lumbers back toward the futon, again knocking the coffee table over. He crouches down and stretches a paw beneath the futon.

He’s intently focused on getting the thing he wants, letting out a short growl of frustration.

“Yeah, I gotta get you another tire,” Lance decides.

Hunk doesn’t seem to hear him, completely involved in his quest to retrieve a chewed tire chunk. He usually listens when Lance says something, even if his animal brain generally doesn’t process conversation. Must be pretty important to him.

Hunk finally hooks his claws into the thing he wants and as he pulls it out, Lance is shocked to see it isn’t a tire chunk at all. It’s Shiro’s prothetic. It appears to be intact, albeit some dirty teeth marks imprinted into faux flesh.

Hunk takes it in his mouth and prances up to Shiro, dropping it at his feet.

“Oh!” Shiro cries, delight blooming on his face. “Good job! Good boy!”

Hunk lets out a happy yip and rolls over onto his back, soaking in the praise. Shiro chuckles and scrubs his belly.

“Oh, thank you, thank you! Who’s a good werewolf?”

Shiro doesn’t seem nearly as cool as he did when Lance was in high school. In high school Shiro seemed like the embodiment of all that was badass, this suave athlete who took on waves that towered like tsunamis. Now he’s sort of a dork, really.

He cries about dogs, fusses over sprained ankles like a dad, baby talks anything furry and tailed, even when that thing is scary huge with blood on his teeth.

“I love my weird friends,” he mumbles under his breath.

And he does, even when they’re doing stupid things like getting too drunk to walk or gifting him with dead squirrels.


	7. Chapter 7

Hunk brings the stick back to Keith, dropping it at his boots. But before Keith can throw it, he’s nudging at him with his muzzle, audibly sniffing.

“Got something in your pocket?” Lance asks.

“Chocolate bar,” Keith says, then to Hunk. “Cut it out, you’re gonna knock me over.”

He shoves the big snoot away and Hunk seems to pout at the rejection, sulkily plodding over to Lance.

“Can he even have chocolate?” Keith asks dubiously.

Lance rolls his eyes and picks up the stick, throwing it toward the trees. Hunk immediately perks up and goes charging after it.

“He’s not a dog, Keith.”

Hunk comes bounding back with the stick in tow but instead of returning it to either of them to throw, he just plops down a short distance away and starts chewing on it.

“He acts like a dog,” Keith muses. “I didn’t think he liked chocolate, anyway.”

“He doesn’t normally,” Lance confirms. “But when he’s got a tail, he’ll put anything in his mouth.”

Hunk was a dessert enthusiast but nothing with chocolate appealed to him. Lance has never seen him touch the stuff as a person. He always baked chocolate free, things like caramel flan, shortbread, fruit tarts, etc. Lance never complains. He likes chocolate himself, but Hunk makes killer lemon bars and his coconut buns are to die for.

Keith tries to take the stick from him and Hunk snaps up, playfully darting just out of reach.

“I throw the stick, you chase the stick,” Keith says as he makes another unsuccessful grab for it. “That’s how this works.”

Hunk tosses his head and prances in the opposite direction.

“He’s probably holding out on you ‘cause you wouldn’t let him get in your pocket,” Lance chuckles. “He doesn’t know he doesn’t like it, he just wants it because you have it.”

“Alright then.” Keith unzips his pocket and Hunk meanders a step or two closer, curious.

He pulls out a partially eaten chocolate bar and rolls the wrapper down, popping the rest in his mouth. Hunk seems to know he’s being teased. He makes a petulant, whiny sound and quickly trots up to Keith, sneezing right in his face. Lance is set off cackling, Keith sputtering in offense. Hunk lopes away with the stick in his mouth, looking pretty satisfied with himself.

Suddenly a distant howl carries through the air, the sound simultaneously eerie and melodic.

Lance gasps. Hunk immediately takes notice, instantly going as still as a statue. The stick tumbles from his jaw and falls softly to the grass.

“Was that another werewolf?” Keith asks, hushed.

“No way,” Lance dismisses, even as gooseflesh breaks out on his arms. “Gotta be a coyote or something.”

The howl comes again, a long, low song piercing the night sky. Hunk crouches on his hinds and throws his head back, returning the howl with a soulful one of his own.

“Does he do that with coyotes?” Keith asks, blinking rapidly.

“Uh…” Lance doesn’t think so.

The only memory he has of Full Moon Hunk interacting with coyotes was the time when he chased a particularly bold, urban one away from Lance’s turkey sandwich when they were fifteen.

Hunk ends his howl and breaks into a run, tearing through the foliage.

“Hunk, buddy!” Lance whistles for him. “Crap, come back, man!”

But Hunk’s on a mission and he doesn’t even glance back. The last Lance sees of him is the fluffy brushstroke of his tail vanishing in the thick of the woods.

“We gotta go after him,” he decides, jogging to Keith’s four wheeler.

Letting Hunk hang out in the woods by himself is one thing. He’s predictable, mostly. He just kills things, maybe pisses on trees, always comes back home. He won’t go far, normally. But Lance has no idea where that howl he’s following came from.

He can’t just let Hunk go into unfamiliar surroundings unsupervised, and more important than that, he can’t let anybody see him.

Hell, what if it is another werewolf and it’s not friendly? What if they get in a fight or something?

Lance sits back and lets Keith hop on in front. Keith revs it up and speeds after Hunk, following a path of trampled undergrowth. He’s really gunning it, the wind whipping through Lance’s clothes hard enough to sting his skin.

“Don’t go so fast we run him over,” Lance huffs.

“I don’t even seen him yet,” Keith replies. “Besides, Red isn’t big enough to run him over. You’d need a semi for that.”

Even that would probably end up dented, frankly. Full Moon Hunk was…unnaturally sturdy. Just sort of unnatural in general, but it’s not something that really unnerved Lance. Actually, it was pretty funny considering whenever something spooked Hunk, the big, ol’ fraidy cat would come running to hide behind Lance.

They finally catch sight of a puffy tail around a sandy clearing. Keith stops the four wheeler. He starts to climb off and as Lance blinks the water from his eyes, he freezes. He grabs Keith by the arm, holding fast.

“That’s not Hunk.”

“Huh— Oh, shit.”

The unknown werewolf is staring at them, standing on all fours a few lengths away. Lance can’t tell what color it is in the dark, only that it’s paler than Hunk. And unlike Hunk, whose fur is close enough to seem like a solid coat, this one has agouti coloration. It isn’t as boxy as Hunk, nor as broad. Its muscles are more defined by noticeably shorter fur and less fat on its frame. Its eyes are pure gold, unlike Hunk’s orangey tint. Bright, glittering gold like a pair of suns in its skull, fixed on Lance and Keith.

“What do we do?” Keith whispers.

“I don’t know.”

“What? Why don’t you know?”

“Knowing Hunk doesn’t automatically make me some werewolf whisperer,” Lance hisses, refusing to take his eyes off this potentially dangerous stranger.

It’s listening to them, Lance can tell by the flick of its ears. But then it turns its head toward the much louder sound of something heavy running. Hunk himself emerges from the undergrowth, sand spraying behind him.

The unknown werewolf’s tail sticks up as it looks to Hunk. Hunk’s does too and they slowly approach each other, sniffing curiously.

Keith glances to Lance. “Should we leave while he’s got it distracted?”

Lance shakes his head. “I can’t leave unless I know he’s gonna come back. I don’t think it’s gonna hurt us, it’s more interested in Hunk.”

When they’re right up against each other, he can see this werewolf is shorter than Hunk. Maybe not smaller exactly, it does have a lot of muscle packed onto it. But it isn’t as tall and that muscle is sleeker, with Hunk’s being more robust and rounded out by chub and thicker fur.

They sniff each other’s noses and each other’s butts. Hunk snuffles along the new werewolf’s back and lightly rests his muzzle on top its head. It doesn’t mind at at. Its ears curve slightly back, but gently so, no flattening and no bearing teeth. It even nuzzles his neck.

They finish smelling each other up and slowly separate, and then, then Lance tenses because the stranger finally takes an interest in what he and Keith are doing. It starts to approach.

Now Hunk, sure, theoretically, he’s capable of ripping them to shreds. But he’s still Hunk and he’d never do that. He isn’t scary. He’s just…well, Hunk.

But this is a stranger and Lance has no idea whether or not it’s a threat. He grabs Keith reflexively, Keith grabbing right back.

The strange werewolf nearly gets close enough to touch before Hunk growls. It’s a rumbling, warning sound.

The stranger blinks and turns back, Lance hit with the breeze that swishes off its tail as it hurries back to Hunk. It tucks its hindquarters low and gives a brief lick at Hunk’s muzzle. Lance kind of gets this, it’s the same thing Full Moon Hunk does to him whenever he knows and cares— because the stubborn beast doesn’t necessarily always care —that he’s done something Lance isn’t happy about.

Its mistake is easily forgiven. Hunk’s tail starts wagging and then he bows, front legs stretched out and big, furry butt high in the air.

“Is he territorial over you?” Keith asks in a whisper.

Lance shrugs. “Could be me, could be because you still smell like food. I have no idea. Guess I could ask him in the morning.”

The other werewolf engages in the invitation to play, spinning in a little circle with a happily flopping tongue, and then darting away. Hunk springs up and happily gives chase. He chases his new friend around a tree, up a big log, over a big rock. Sand and twigs sail behind them.

Lance soaks the sight in, surprised by the familiarity of it. He hasn’t seen Hunk play with other werewolves in a long time, not since he was small enough to qualify as a pup and Lance’s was still missing his first lost tooth. He’d forgotten what it looked like, but the more he watches now, the more the fuzzy memories resurface of a stubbier and fluffier Hunk tussling with his siblings and cousins in the yard. A similarly smaller and shrimpy version of himself tried to join in, only for Hunk’s mom to take his collar in her mouth like she took her own pups’ scruffs and drag him back, because even as a beast, she knew Lance was significantly fragile in comparison.

“Do you think that’s someone we know?” Keith asks, nodding to the other werewolf as it ducks behind a bush.

“Hmm.” Lance squints in thought. “I guess we could get Shiro wasted and then ask him. He totally recognized Hunk, man, like right off the bat.”

“We’re not getting Shiro drunk,” Keith says. “But I think Hunk still kinda looks like himself when he’s like this. I wouldn’t say I recognize him, exactly, but there’s similarities.”

“You see any similarities between this guy and anyone we know?” Lance raises a brow.

The new werewolf springs over the bush and tackles Hunk, the two of them sent rolling. They start sparring with each other, but it’s still just in play.

“Is it a guy?” Keith asks, casually crossing his arms.

Lance blinks, considering. Well yeah, it could totally be a girl for all they know. He watches as the two spar. One minute they move more like wolves, dueling with open jaws that never actually go in to bite. The next minute they move more like people, pushing at each other and grappling.

“You don’t think they’ll actually hurt each other, right?” Keith asks, a bit of concern creeping into his tone.

“Nah. I think it’s like when you and Shiro do karate together.”

“Muay Thai,” Keith corrects.

“You know what I mean,” Lance says, rolling his eyes and giving Keith a light shove.

A kind of sly look falls over Keith’s face, the corner of his lips quirking up.

“Why are you looking at me like— _oof!”_

Keith pushes him down and the next thing he knows, Lance is dragged into a wrestling match of his own. The scuffle together in the sand, just for fun, like the werewolves on the opposite side of the clearing. When it’s just in play, they’re pretty evenly matched. Keith might be the more skilled fighter, but he fights on his feet and Lance is slippery as an eel whether he’s up or down.

They roll around in a tangle of limbs, each struggling for an opening against the other. Eventually Keith wins, pinning Lance down with a knee to his back. Lance tries to wiggle out from under him, but Keith’s weighty and in a tough spot to reach.

“Alright, I surrender,” he mutters. “Get off me.”

Keith climbs off him. Lance gets back to his feet and dusts himself off.

“Jeez. Don’t you think we’re too old for that stuff?”

“You’re only saying that because you lost,” Keith teases lightly.

“I wasn’t prepared,” Lance protests. “You just sprung it on me.”

Hunk evidently lost his wrestling match too. He’s flopped on his side while the other werewolf stands over him. Hunk seems to tolerate the loss with grace, simply lying placidly while his new friend chews on his ear and paws at his shoulder.

“So, how do we get him back anyway?” Keith asks. “I don’t think he’d follow Red right now.”

“I don’t think he would, either,” Lance agrees, frowning.

Hunk was obviously excited to answer his new friend’s beckon. They’re clearly enjoying each other’s company. These aren’t bad things, of course. Bizarre for sure, but not bad. But this interferes with the matter of getting Hunk home.

They have plenty of time left before the sun comes up, but Lance would prefer to get some sleep in between.

“I’m guessing you don’t have a leash,” Keith says.

“Sure, I have a leash,” Lance bubbles. “One of the premium grade werewolf ones they sell down at the pet store.”

Keith winces. “Okay, stupid idea. But maybe he’ll just go home when the other one leaves.”

“Or he’ll follow it,” Lance sighs. “He might come back when he’s tired, but I can’t count on that.”

“Could we lure him with food?”

“Possibly, but what if the other one wanted some? They could end up fighting over it.”

“Good point,” Keith agrees.

Hunk rolls over and gets to his paws, shaking his fur out. His new friend trots back a few paces, giving him some room to do so. Lance whistles him over. Hunk raises his head, meeting his gaze. For a second Lance thinks that’s all he’s going to get, but then Hunk makes his way over. The other one follows him, to a point. It stops before it’s close enough to warrant another warning from Hunk, who greets Lance with a slobbery lick. Lance scratches him between the ears.

“So, what am I gonna do about you? Huh?”

Naturally, Hunk doesn’t have an answer. He just wags his tail.

“If I stay here, could you go back and grab some sleeping bags?” Lance asks. “There’s a couple in Hunk’s closet.”

“You sure?” Keith raises a brow. “It’s getting kinda cold out.”

Lance shrugs. “Like I said, I can’t leave unless I know he’s coming back, and if he is, it’s not gonna be soon. He’s pretty content here. You can go home if you want but I gotta stay with him.”

“I wasn’t going to stay the night, but I don’t know about leaving you alone with a werewolf— I mean, one that’s not Hunk.” Keith frowns.

“But that’s the thing, I’m not alone.” Lance pats Hunk’s head.

Keith opens his mouth, then stops short, face screwing up as his eyes travel the clearing.

“What?” Lance stands on tiptoe to look over Hunk’s head. “There’s nothing over there.”

“Exactly,” Keith says. “His friend’s gone.”

“Oh!” Lance whips around, searching some more. “You’re right!”

Hunk idly meanders away from Lance, going over to the fallen log. He scratches at the trunk for no discernible reason Lance can figure, causing dead bark to flake off. He doesn’t seem troubled by the absence of his new friend.

“Let’s go,” Lance decides. “He’ll follow Red now.”

Keith nods and hops on, Lance getting on behind him. Keith starts it up and takes off so fast Lance nearly flies off. He goes back the way they came, creating a solid set of tracks in pre-trampled overgrowth.

It takes Hunk a moment to catch up, but he does chase them. He gallops after the four wheeler with bright eyes, tail held high.

Keith slows down once the trailer is in sight and parks by the shed. Hunk comes to a stop behind them, panting heavily. He briefly sniffs at the exhaust pipe and then at the back tire. His maw opens as he leans in to chew and Keith flings himself off the vehicle, barking a loud, “no!”

He bodily shoves at Hunk, shouldering into his flank in an attempt to get him to move. Hunk doesn’t even take a step, evidently in one of his stubborn moods. Lance smirks and heads up the steps, holding the trailer door open.

“C’mon, buddy! Who wants a treat?”

Hunk comes running. He leaps over the steps, rattling the whole place as he lands with a boom on the linoleum. He waits beside the fridge, tail wagging eagerly. Lance steps around him and gets the door open, glancing over what they’ve got stocked. Hunk always tells him not to feed him the good stuff when he’s like this, so Lance just gets a piece of ham out of the package.

“Sit.”

Hunk sits.

“Good.”

Lance throws it on the floor. He doesn’t feed Hunk out of his hand, not even if he’s got his palm flat. It’s just asking for an accident to happen.

“You want anything, Keith?” he asks, figuring he might as well offer while the fridge is still open. “…Keith?”

He glances up to find Keith’s nowhere to be seen. Maybe he’s still fussing over his four wheeler. Lance pokes his head out the front door and almost topples over in shock. Hunk licks his chops and hurries over, most likely the scent of blood piquing his interest.

“What should I do?” Keith asks, his voice ringing clear and calm from where he stands motionless near the shed.

Hunk’s new friend is standing in the middle of the yard on all fours, its jaws clamped around the throat of a freshly killed deer.

“Just stay there for a sec,” Lance says, stepping back as Hunk jumps down the steps.

Hunk ambles over to the new werewolf, sniffing at its kill. It drops the deer’s head right at his paws, its tail giving a few gentle wags. Hunk bites into the deer’s foreleg and Lance hears his teeth scrape quietly over bone. Then he rips it free and that sound is a lot louder, moist squelching that evolves into a noise like tearing leather.

The other werewolf slashes its belly open with its claws, organs sliding out and wetly tumbling over the grass. It takes a strand of intestines in its jaw, and Lance thinks they look kinda like sausages without the fennel. The other werewolf nudges Hunk in the shoulder and then Hunk releases his claimed leg, biting the other end of the dangling intestines.

They’re sharing. They slurp at it together until their noses touch, like the famous spaghetti noodle scene with the cartoon dogs. It’s pretty freaking gross, but Lance still prefers this to them fighting over it. But just because they aren’t fighting with each other, doesn’t mean they won’t get possessive if Keith gets too close. Hunk wouldn’t hurt him, but Lance isn’t taking any chances with the other one.

“Come around behind the shed,” Lance calls to him. “They’re pretty into their meal, I don’t think they’re even gonna notice as long as you keep a distance.”

Keith flashes him a thumb’s up and ducks behind the shed. Lance keeps watching as Hunk and his new friend feast on the deer, nasty, fleshy noises floating up as they chomp down on the slick pile of insides. Keith appears from around the shed and slowly slinks his way over to the trailer. Lance opens the door a little wider to let him up the steps.

“It just came out of the bushes dragging that deer,” he says. “I just didn’t know what to do.”

“Waiting for an opening was a good idea,” Lance replies. “You wouldn’t want to be the next thing in its mouth.”

“You think it would’ve attacked me?”

“If you got close to its food? Totally. I mean, sure, it’s sharing with Hunk. But it obviously likes Hunk and I’m guessing it knows it’s in his territory. He marks a lot of trees.”

“This is still weird to me,” Keith says, giving a little head shake. “You know. That that’s Hunk. That once a month, Hunk is a big hairy thing that marks trees.”

“Don’t call him a thing, man." Lance scowls. "That’s not nice.”

“Creature?” Keith offers.

Lance considers, then nods. “Yeah, that works.”

“So, do we do anything about this?” Keith asks.

Lance watches as Hunk rends fat from sinew with a swipe of his claws.

“I’m not letting whoever that is inside,” he says, glance to the other werewolf as it chows down on this meaty lump that might be a deer lung. “I just hope he doesn’t leave with them. If he leaves we have to go after him.”

“If the other one doesn’t leave, guess we’ll see who it is in the morning,” Keith murmurs.

“Guess so,” Lance says, squinting at the creature and wondering if it could possibly be anyone he knows.

He tries to think of all the people he never sees on the full moon. And then realizes that’s a pretty stupid way to try to figure it out, because he’s always busy watching Hunk on the full moon.

“This is sort of like watching a really weird version of the nature channel,” Keith says.

Hunk’s gnawing on the leg he tore off. His friend’s face is stuffed in the bloody opening of the deer’s belly.

“Reminds me why I don’t usually watch the nature channel,” Lance agrees, pushing back from the door. “They’re gonna be busy with that for awhile, so I guess I’ll do some homework.”

“Well, I can’t go home,” Keith says, quietly shutting the door and turning around. “Mind if I watch something?”

“Feel free.” Lance flaps his hand. “You can have anything you want in the fridge, except for the leftover picadillo. That’s my lunch tomorrow.”

“Got it, thanks.” Keith shuffles his way over to the fridge and Lance heads to his room to crack open some textbooks.

* * *

At some point, Lance must’ve fallen asleep.

He wakes up to find he’s used his environmental science book as a pillow. There’s a spot on the glossy page that’s damp and ripply with drying drool. He’s got three of the questions at the end of the chapter finished with short answers, but still has another three left to do.

“Dang it,” Lance mutters, sitting up and swiping the crust from the corner of his mouth.

He glances out the window to see the sun’s already come up, pale light peeking through the trees. This means something, doesn’t it?

Oh, right, Hunk.

Lance hops off the bed and hurries down the hall. Keith’s passed out on the futon, the glow of the television flickering over his face. Hunk isn’t in here. Lance pulls the front door open and stops short, relief washing through him. Hunk’s curled up on the ground, nude and snoring near the picked clean deer skeleton.

He didn’t leave, good. Lance curiously sweeps his gaze across the yard, searching for any sign that the other werewolf had stayed too.

Doesn’t look like it.

All is still except for Hunk’s snoring and the distant cooing of mourning doves. Lance steps back inside and goes to Hunk’s room, grabbing him a bathrobe. He balls it up in his hands as he goes back to the door and trots down the steps, throwing it at Hunk.

Hunk startles mid-snore and snaps upright, blinking rapidly. The robe falls into his lap.

“Morning,” Lance says, crouching down.

“Morning,” Hunk mumbles, absently unbundling the robe.

“I fell asleep before I could let you in,” Lance tells him apologetically. “Hope it wasn’t too cold out.”

Hunk shakes his head, stands up to slip the robe on. “I would’ve scratched if it was. You would’ve heard me.”

Lance stands with him, feeling a bit better. “Where’d your friend go?”

“Home, I guess.”

“Anyone we know?” Lance raises a brow.

“No.” Hunk shakes his head.

“You sure?”

“I would’ve recognized her by smell.” Hunk stretches his arms over his head, yawning. “Never met her before last night, but she's nice. If she comes back, don’t be scared. She won’t hurt you. Not like I’d let her even if she would, but she wouldn’t.”

“Did you just imply you’d protect me?” Lance huffs a laugh. “Seriously? Dude, you got scared by your own phone alarm going off. You hid behind me because the phone was making a scary noise, but you expect me to think you’d make a good guard dog?”

“I would,” Hunk insists, defensively crossing his arms. “If I had to.”

“Sure you would.” Lance rolls his eyes. “Go take a shower, you smell like you rolled in something dead.”

Hunk glances to the deer skeleton and slumps forward, face puckering with a mix of mortification and revulsion.

“I did.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I headcanon human!Shay as...well, wait, I guess in this case it's more like human-ish!Shay. I headcanon human-ish!Shay as being Indian, just for the record. And yes, I mean Indian as in from India. I hate that I have to specify this (fuck you, Columbus).
> 
> Some mild whump in this, not the gory kind that's going to be in the companion piece though. Just a lil' bit.

The mall on the ritzier side of town is totally decked out for the holiday, inflatable monsters and plastic jack-o-lanterns abound. Eerie music, like the kind you’d hear in the background of a horror movie, carries through the overheard speakers. Allura hums along as she digs five platinum credit cards out of her purse and gives one to each person in their group.

“Why do you even have a job?” Lance asks, mystified.

“Because I like animals,” Allura answers simply. “Usually small animals, though I do make exceptions.”

She winks at Hunk and he smiles sheepishly, fiddling with the corners of the card.

“So what exactly do you want us to get?” Keith asks.

“Well, I’d like to get most of the indoor necessities. Cups, tablecloths, favors, that sort of thing. If the rest of you would focus on the outdoor decor, that would be very helpful.”

“Is there a spending limit?” Shiro poses the question to Allura but he’s giving Lance a sidelong look.

“There’s no specific limit, but please refrain from buying anything…ridiculous,” Allura replies, her gaze lingering on Lance.

“Hey! What did I do?”

“The Christmas party,” Keith answers flatly.

“You loved those reindeer and you know it, Keith.” Lance rolls his eyes.

“If you’d rented one reindeer it would’ve been fine, but nine was complete chaos.” Allura rubs her temples. “I can’t go through that again.”

“It’s not all his fault,” Hunk offers. “I sort of, uh, scared them on accident. I think that’s what riled them up.”

Christmas hadn’t been a full moon, but Hunk had briefly shifted when no one was looking in order to dig up the keys Lance dropped in deep snow. Allura’s guests were inside. No one noticed except for the reindeer.

A long time ago, Lance bought a clicker at the pet store and trained Hunk to change back at its sound, just like training a dog to do tricks. He kept it on him to use as needed and that night, pressed the clicker to get Hunk to change back before he could go into hunting mode. But either seeing him or smelling him must’ve been enough to freak the reindeer out anyway, because the next thing either of them knew, they were trampling through Allura’s house.

“So are decorations the only thing we’re allowed to get?” Pidge asks, raising a brow. “Because you said costumes were required and I don’t have a costume.”

“Both costumes and Halloween themed clothing are acceptable, actually,” Allura says. “I’m going to wear a pink dress with skulls.”

“Okay…but I don’t have a costume or themed clothes.” Pidge suggestively waggles the card in her hand.

Allura crosses her arms over her chest, trying to look stern. She can’t. A humoring smile quirks the corners of her lips.

“Alright, fine. If any of you see a costume or an outfit you want, feel free to put it on my card.”

“Yes!” Pidge pumps her fist triumphantly.

“At least pretend to be humble.” Allura scoffs and shakes her head. “Anyway, let’s split up so we can cover more ground. Shiro and Keith, I’ll shop with you on the second floor. Lance, Hunk, and Pidge, you shop on this floor. Does that plan work for everyone?”

Everyone glances around the group and nods agreeably.

“Great.” Allura claps her hands together. “At lunch, we’ll meet at the food court and compare purchases.”

* * *

About an hour into it, the cart is already nearly full. They have Allura’s platinum cards and no one is holding back. So far, Lance has picked out an ensemble of realistic looking limbs encased in butcher packaging, a fuzzy animatronic spider almost as long as his body, and a big, latex grim reaper thing that you can hang up wherever. 

Hunk’s picked out some styrofoam headstones and an animated projector that makes it look like those picturesque, white sheet ghosts are flying around. Pidge seems to be grabbing whatever she notices, which so far is a bunch of big rubber bats, these creepy, glow-in-the-dark faces to paste on the inside of the windows, a set of glittering styrofoam pumpkins, and a motion activated vampire that pops out of its coffin when it detects people walking by.

She stops at a costume rack and starts looking through them, Lance peering over her shoulder.

“Maybe this?” Pidge pulls off a candy corn costume.

Lance crinkles his nose. “Really? Isn’t that kind of simple?”

“I like simple. Fancy stuff doesn’t suit me.”

“I’m not saying you have to get something fancy, but you’re the one who convinced Allura to spring for outfits. Don’t you want to go a little bigger?”

“Mm, maybe. But this is cute, isn’t it?” The more Pidge looks at the candy corn, the more convinced she seems. “Hunk, what do you think?”

But Hunk’s not paying attention. He’s squinting over the rack with a perplexed look on his face. Lance cranes his neck to see what he’s looking at and discovers it’s a girl. She’s browsing through some of the monster masks on display.

“Whoa, she’s ripped,” Lance gasps softly, impressed.

She’s built like a boulder, abs visible through the crystal graphic on her t-shirt and thighs that could crack his skull like a walnut.

“She looks familiar, doesn’t she?” Hunk asks. “I swear I know her.”

Lance tilts his head, giving her a closer look. Bole brown skin, short, dark hair pulled back in a micro braid. Huge hoop earrings. Lance is pretty sure he’d remember if he saw her before.

Pidge isn’t tall enough to see over the rack, so she pushes her head through the costumes and takes a look.

“Oh, I know her. Or, more like I know who she is. That’s Shay, she’s on the women’s wrestling team at Balmera Tech and she takes a geology class at our school.”

“Then maybe I’ve seen her around campus?” Hunk says uncertainly.

“I don’t know her that well, but she seems super nice,” Pidge adds nonchalantly. “I saw her last wrestling match. She totally annihilated Zethrid and then apologized for it.”

“Wow,” Lance whispers. Shay’s got to be good if she beat Zethrid. Lance only had one class with Zethrid and he was sufficiently terrified of her. The woman looked like she ate cars for breakfast and acted like it too.

Shay puts back the mask she was studying and turns around, noticing them. Lance freezes, trying to look like he wasn’t staring. But Shay doesn’t stomp over and call them out on it, or anything of the sort.

She starts staring too, straight at Hunk.

She stares at him and he stares right back.

They both look the way Lance feels when he’s trying to figure out a particularly difficult math problem. There is a long and awkward silence where Lance and Pidge just watch Hunk and Shay staring at each other, and then Shay breaks the spell by coming up the rack.

“Do I know you?” she asks Hunk softly.

“I was just going to ask you the same thing,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I swear I’ve seen you before…”

“…But I cannot place where,” Shay finishes, brow furrowing.

“Maybe it’ll come back to me.” Hunk introduces himself and offers his hand. Shay smiles and they shake over the rack.

Pidge nudges Lance with her elbow and pointedly jerks her head in another direction. For a second he doesn’t get it, and then _oh_ , yeah, she’s right. They should give these two some space. He follows Pidge over to this end cap with come clearance items, which are still priced higher than anything you’d see at the average whatever-mart. They’re still eavesdropping on Hunk and Shay, but at least it’s a little less obvious.

But neither of them are talking about anything particularly interesting. Just small talk. Hunk tells her where he works, goes on a bit about the shop. Shay says she works part time with some landscaping place and then starts telling him about her rock collection. Lance pretty much tunes out and starts browsing through the clearance stuff instead.

“We should get this,” Pidge says, holding up a speaker thing with a hissing black cat printed on it.

“What is it?”

“Sound machine,” she says, turning it over to read the back of the box. “It says it has over fifty spooky sound effects.”

“Sweet, throw it in.”

Pidge tosses it in the cart. “What are you gonna wear, Lance?”

“I’ve got a bright orange shirt that has ‘This is my Halloween Costume’ printed on the front and the back.”

Pidge gives him a dry look. “And you think my candy corn costume is too simple?”

“My shirt isn’t simple. It’s clever.”

“Sure it is.” Pidge rolls her eyes and throws something else in the cart.

“What’s that?”

“Bloody handprint stickers.”

Lance nods in approval and then a different end cap catches his eye. He can’t help snorting as he spots a zombified plastic lawn flamingo. Instead of having bright pink feathers, it’s painted with greenish protruding bone and glowing red eyes.

“Okay, I’m getting her like, ten of these.”

“Grab that little zombie gnome too.” Pidge grins.

Lance stuffs the cart with zombie themed yard decorations and by the time he’s done, Hunk’s made his way back to them.

“Got a new girlfriend?” Pidge teases, lightly elbowing him.

“Pfft.” Hunk retaliates by ruffling her hair.

“Figure out where you know her from?” Lance asks, curious.

Hunk shakes his head. “Nope. Neither of us could, it’s so weird.”

“You invite her to lunch?” Pidge asks, casually dumping some more Halloween oddities into the cart.

“Yeah, but she’s already meeting her brother somewhere.”

“You at least got her number, right?” Lance asks.

“Yep. Invited her to Allura’s party too. Not like a date,” Hunk clarifies as Pidge wiggles her brows suggestively. “Shay just seems cool. She’s so crazy familiar, too. I don’t know why I can’t put my finger on it but it’s starting to bug me.”

“Relax.” Pidge pats his back. “One of you is bound to remember eventually. Anyway, do you think I should go as candy corn? Lance says it’s too simple.”

“What are you talking about?” Hunk shoots Lance a flabbergasted look. “Pidge would be adorable as candy corn!”

“Yeah, but we’ve got Allura’s platinum cards.” Lance gestures wildly. “She could get the most expensive costume here.”

“Doesn’t matter, candy corn is classic.” Hunk folds his arms.

“Okay, it’s official, I’m going as candy corn.”

“I think I’m gonna go as a pineapple,” Hunk says tentatively.

“You don’t need a costume, you could just do the thing,” Lance jokes.

Hunk huffs and gives him a playful shove, while Pidge sweeps a shelf of realistic looking rubber snakes into the cart.

* * *

The group reconvenes in the food court and Allura goes over everyone’s haul, checking things off a list. She seems satisfied and even sports some enthusiasm toward the extra purchases. They go over the party plans, which they’d all agreed to help her with.

Hunk agreed to make some Halloween themed sides and appetizers. Lance and Keith are going to help her finish up the final touches on the haunted house. Pidge is going to get everything hooked up right, from the fog machines to the stereos. Shiro’s going to help organize the raffle. He’s also bringing a litter of rescue puppies in cute Halloween themed bandanas, with the hope some guests might be suitable adopters.

Everything is thoroughly planned out, down to the last strand of purple LED lights.

What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

“Okay, all the tarpaulin is secured,” Keith announces.

Lance glances up from dumping red corn syrup into the clawfoot tub.

“I might need some help hanging the dummies…Lance, stop.”

“I’m sorry,” Lance insists, even as he openly cracks up. “I just can’t take you seriously while you’re wearing that.”

Of all the costumes he could’ve gotten armed with Allura’s platinum card, Lance has no clue why he picked a hippo onesie.

Keith just rolls his eyes. “Just give me a hand with the dummies.”

“Yeah, one sec.” Lance rises from the edge of the tub and splatters some of the syrup around the tub and on the walls.

The haunted house begins in the pole barn and leads out into a maze they set up with pallets. In the barn, they kind of ran with a killer’s house theme. Mini rooms are set up and separated by sheets or more pallets. Styrofoam chains dangle down from above. Fake body parts and dummies chill in puddles of corn syrup, and some of Allura’s friends volunteered to jump out at people.

Keith leads him to the little bedroom area, where the extra dummies are. It looks pretty good, if Lance does say so himself. There’s a huge bloodstain in the middle of the bed and the canopy above it is tattered cheesecloth, tangled with realistic, hairy tarantulas so it’s bound to look like webbing under the strobe lights.

Lance goes to grab one dummy, Keith goes for another. Suddenly, a figure bursts up through the middle of the mattress. They both scream and flee, nearly knocking into each other in a mad scramble for safety.

Effervescent, girlish giggling tickles the air and Lance stops short, immediately feeling stupid. He wheels back and scowls.

“You should’ve seen the look on your faces,” Romelle chirrups, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “The bloodstain does a good job of disguising the hole in the mattress, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe too good,” Lance huffs.

“Oh, lighten up.” Romelle climbs off the bed. “I wanted to practice a little bit before everyone arrives.”

She’s in a red splashed nightgown with fake bullet wounds on her face and above the neckline. There’s even splotches of corn syrup dried in her hair, making it stiff and stuck up and creating a genuinely gruesome look.

“Well that’s in less than an hour, so do you think you could help us?” Keith asks pointedly, nodding to the dummies. “Allura wants these hanging up over the exit, so people bump into them on their way to the maze.”

“An hour?” Lance stops, blinking rapidly. “Crap, I gotta go get Hunk’s food.”

“He’s not bringing it himself?” Keith looks up.

“Nah, he’s working late. He’s gonna ride with Coran.”

Coran was the owner of Coranic Mechanics. In addition to being Hunk’s boss, he was something or other to Allura’s family. Her father’s associate, or maybe even his boyfriend, for all Lance knew. It was kinda unclear but he was super tight with Allura and overall, a pretty cool guy to be around. Kooky, but cool.

Lance leaves the dummies to Keith and Romelle, jogging out the pole barn entrance. Allura’s got the whole place looking great. All the decorations they got at the mall are strategically p;aced around the yard and house. She poured something in the pool that turned it ghoulish green. She even decorated the row of trees behind her house before it really turns into the woods, skeletons and gremlins posed around the trunks and in the branches.

Lance spots her in the midst of final touches on the front porch and gives her a thumb’s up before sliding into his car.

* * *

Lance pops open the trunk and goes back and forth from the kitchen to the car, loading up everything Hunk made. Which is a ton of stuff that’s been a real struggle not to eat. There’s these mini meat pie things in various Halloween shapes, glazed by colorful egg yolk paint. There’s also these bat biscuits with cheesy stuff in the middle, and these little snacks Hunk called “potato bugs.” They’re like caterpillars made out of tater tots, with teeny carrot stick legs.

He carved a watermelon to look like a jack-o-lantern, with the watermelon chunks carefully cubed to spill out of its jagged mouth. He made these sweet treats with sugar cookie dough shaped to look like tiny cauldrons, filled with caramelized rice puffs. Even packing it up makes Lance hungry.

It can’t hurt to eat just one little cauldron, can it?

No one’s going to notice if there’s just one missing, he planned to snack on them at the party anyway. Lance puts the tray back down on the counter and reaches for one. His fingers are a hairsbreadth away from the little licorice handle, when his phone starts ringing.

It’s the kitchen timer ringtone. Hunk. Okay, now that’s just scary. It’s like he’s sensed what Lance was up to. Mildly perturbed, he answers it.

“Sup, Hunk?”

“Coran, actually,” the man corrects, pausing and taking a slow breath. “Don’t panic, but Hunk’s had a bit of an accident.”

“Accident?” Lance echoes, more than a little alarmed.

“He fell off a ladder. He did hit his head, but again, don’t panic. Though it’s a little bloody, he is fully alert and coherent. Now, I offered to take him to the emergency room but he’s insistent on going with you.”

“Oh. Y-Yeah, okay, I’ll be right there.”

“Glad to hear it, I’ll tide him over.”

Lance hangs up and stuffs his phone in his pocket, willing his heartbeat to slow. There’s no reason to panic. It was a startling call, but everything’s fine. The reason Hunk won’t go to the emergency room with Coran is because he doesn’t need to go. He doesn’t need medical attention at all. As soon as he shifts, he’ll be perfectly fine. Lance just has to get him to a private spot where he can shift, then when he’s a giant furball, he’ll insta-heal and they can head to the party like nothing happened.

There’s nothing to worry about, it’s just a little hiccup. Hunk doesn’t stay hurt, he never does. Calmed with these rational thoughts in mind, Lance takes the last tray to the trunk and locks it in before climbing into the driver’s seat.

It doesn’t take very long to get to the shop, maybe fifteen minutes tops.

As soon as he pulls into the driveway, Lance springs out of the car and charges inside. The beanpole of a guy behind the counter immediately looks up from his phone.

“Bii-Boh-Bi, where’s—?”

He points toward Coran’s office before Lance can finish, and Lance races back, nearly tripping over the shaggy rug beyond the threshold.

“I said not to panic,” Coran reminds him, glancing over briefly. He’s seated next to Hunk on the small leather couch across from his desk, pressing a clean towel flush to his friend’s temple.

“Hi,” Hunk says, terse.

Lance can tell he’s in pain. “How bad does it look?”

“This isn’t too bad,” Coran says, moving the towel to reveal a superficial gash. “It’s mostly clotted. That, on the other hand, is a bit more worrisome.”

Lance follows Coran’s gaze. Hunk’s holding a big, blue ice pack to his wrist.

“It’s okay,” Hunk promises through gritted teeth. “Just bruised.”

“Then it’d be the first time I’ve ever head a bruise make a noise like that.” Coran turns to Lance. “Get him checked out.”

“For sure, no worries. You ready, buddy?”

Hunk gives a short nod and slowly stands up, Coran’s hand hovering over the small of his back. His steps are slow and tight with pain, and even though Lance knows it’s not going to be for much longer, it still hurts to see him like this. Coran follows them to the car, gently helping Hunk into the passenger’s seat while Lance digs out his keys.

“Don’t forget to update me,” Coran says, concern creasing his forehead.

“We won’t.” Lance promises.

With that, Coran gives Hunk’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and heads back into the shop.

“Broken?” Lance asks, eyeing the protective way Hunk holds his wrist to his side.

“Uh-huh.”

Lance winces. “How’s your head?”

“I think I’m thinking clearly, but it hurts.”

“Okay. Can you make it back to the trailer?”

Hunk breathes a soft whine and starts to shake his head, stops short when the motion visibly pains him.

“It hurts a lot, Lance, can we please just find the closest empty parking lot or something?”

“Sure, man. Just hang in there.”

* * *

 

Lance pulls over on a vacant dirt road. They’re bordered by the woods on one side and an overgrown field on the other. Although he can hear music and city noise off in the distance, it’s very faint. No one is here to see Hunk change, aside from himself and some lightning bugs.

“Need help with your jumpsuit?”

“Yeah,” Hunk admits quietly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Lance shrugs and they get out of the car.

Hunk can unzip it by himself and he can slide his uninjured arm out of its sleeve. Getting the sleeve off his injured arm proves to be more of an issue. Lance tries to work it off slow and smooth as possible to minimize the jostling, but it doesn’t stop Hunk from letting out these short, choked yelps. To make matters worse, his wrist has drastically swollen. It’s like a plump balloon of broken flesh and the fabric of the sleeve bundles around it, tightly constricted.

“Okay, this isn’t working. I could try to just yank it off, but that’s not gonna be very fun for you. Or you could just shift now and we’ll order you a new one.”

“Just yank it.”

“What?” Lance balks. He was expecting Hunk to pick the latter option. Honestly, he was hoping Hunk would pick the latter option. “You sure?”

Hunk nods, squeezing his eyes shut. “Hurry up, get it over with.”

“Aw crap, this is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you.” Lance firmly grips the upper part of the sleeve.

“Lance, just—“

Hunk abruptly breaks into a bloodcurdling scream as Lance unceremoniously yanks the sleeve with all his might, stumbling back from the abrupt release. He falls on his butt, Hunk’s jumpsuit in his hand. Hunk’s scream dies away and he slumps forward, panting breathlessly.

“Maybe it did hurt you more,” Lance mumbles apologetically. “Sorry.”

“No…needed…ugh.” Hunk gives himself a shake. “Thanks.”

Lance pulls himself to his feet and watches him shift, glancing around just to be sure there’s no cars coming. There aren’t. This spot isn’t as secluded as the privacy of their yard, but it’s not a bad place for quick change. Hunk’s boxers and socks get shredded in the process but Lance figures he was in too much pain to bother. Those are more readily replaceable than the jumpsuit. Lance folds it up and places it in the back seat while he waits for Hunk to be done.

Hunk heals in the change and once he’s a bonafide beastly thing, he prances around a little bit as though to confirm this. He locks gazes with Lance and trots up, affectionately bunting into Lance’s chest, tail wagging. It’s like he’s trying to show him he feels better and Lance relaxes, giving him a brief hug around his big furry neck.

“Good job. Ready to change back?”

Hunk lumbers back a couple steps, lowering his head to sniff at some dead leaves.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Lance reaches into his back pocket to grab the clicker, and a rustling near the tree line catches his attention. He glances up to see a buck peek his head out from around a fir. Hunk notices too, and Lance doesn’t know who realizes their mistake faster, the buck or himself.

The buck takes off as Lance’s fingers close around the clicker and Hunk takes off after it, tail flying behind him.

“Shit!” Lance gasps, sprinting after them.

He races along the path of broken bracken. Luckily he can still the fluffy tip of Hunk’s tail. He knows he doesn’t have a chance of catching up, but if he can still see Hunk, then maybe Hunk can still hear him. He whistles as he whips the clicker out, pressing frantically. If he hears it, Hunk pays no heed. Lance loses sight of him over a downward slope and lets out a low wail of distress.

He lost Hunk.

He straight up lost Hunk on Halloween, when there’s bound to be traffic and people drinking in the woods, and who knows what else.

Lance paces in circles, running his hands through his hair.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

The dread hits him like a bird turd falling from the sky. This is unbelievably bad. This might actually be the worst thing ever.

He _lost_ Hunk.

Lance grabs a tree and despondently bops his forehead against the trunk, at a loss for what to do. He has to do something. He can’t just let him run wild out there. He can’t follow Hunk on foot, he’ll never keep up with a werewolf. He can’t bring his car back here, there’s no path big enough for that.

Wait, maybe this isn’t actually as bad as he fears it is. When Hunk spends time in the woods at the trailer, he always comes home by himself. Maybe the distance doesn’t matter and when he catches the deer or whatever, he’ll just find his way back.

Except no, that’s not something Lance can count on. It’d be a lucky outcome but he can’t depend on it when there’s so many other possibilities. Like Hunk running into traffic and causing a big pileup. Someone getting scared and calling animal control, or the cops. Or even worse, Hunk getting scared and biting someone. He normally hides behind Lance when he’s scared, but if Lance isn’t there to hide behind…well, hopefully he’d just hide behind something else before resorting to his teeth.

Okay, so Lance can’t follow him with the car. But maybe he could borrow Keith’s Red, or one of Allura’s ATVs. Allura’s place is closer than Keith’s is, he just— Wait a minute.

Allura’s place! Hunk must know that he’s supposed to be going to Allura’s. Even if concepts like ‘Allura’s party’ don’t stay the same in his full moon brain, memory and routine are retained. After however it turns out with the deer, Hunk’s gotta be going to Allura’s. That’s been the plan all month, it’s not the kind of thing that’d slip his mind just because he sprouted a tail. He’s not lost after all!

All Lance has to do is meet up with Hunk at Allura’s place. No big deal. It’s not like Allura’s house is packed with dozens of people or anything.

Lance smacks himself in the forehead so hard he nearly concusses himself. Spinning around, he runs back to the car like his shoes have wings.

* * *

Lance has to park halfway down the block because Allura’s driveway is bumper to bumper and cars line up and down the curb. Allura’s front yard is flooded with people. Some pose with the inflatable monsters on the lawn, bright light flashing as their friends snap pics. Some hang out on the front porch, idly kicking back in the black garland wrapped porch swing. Screams accompany the revving of fake chainsaws from the backyard and Lance urgently hopes that they’re from the haunted house, and the haunted house only.

He dashes down the sidewalk and hurries into the back, eyes scanning for any sign of Hunk. There’s a lot going on. Shiro’s puppies are corralled in a playpen strung with LED tombstones. Some people are playing beer pong on the back porch, some whom Lance would have an easier time recognizing if they weren’t in costume. Others emerge from the haunted maze shrieking wildly, while there’s something of a small line outside the pole barn.

Various decorations cover the grounds from one end of the yard to the other, blankets of fog billowing around them. If Lance didn’t know any better, he’d think he was looking at a professional attraction rather than someone’s home. He is simultaneously proud of Allura for pulling this off and frustrated because the Halloween scene is so busy, Hunk could be anywhere in it.

Maybe Lance should check inside the house first. He climbs the back porch steps and as he reaches for the sliding door, Allura opens it first from the opposite side. She steps out of the house and frowns at Lance, brow furrowed.

“There you are! Where’s the food?”

“Uh, it’s in my car, but—“

“What?” Allura throws her hands up. “Why on Earth is it in the car? Guests are waiting!”

“We have a bigger problem,” Lance says. “I can’t find Hunk!”

“Isn’t he coming with Coran?”

“He was supposed to, but no, not now,” Lance stresses. “Now he’s big and furry and I don’t know where he is!”

“Furry?” Allura’s eyes widen. “You don’t mean…?”

“What else would I mean, Allura!?” Lance throws his hands up.

Allura gasps, panic engulfing her features. “Lance, please tell me he isn’t here!”

“I haven’t seen him yet, but I don’t think he’d go anywhere else. He knows he’s supposed to be here.”

“He’s not supposed to be here with fur!” Allura exclaims, hands flying to her face. “We have to find him!”

“You’re telling me!”

Lance jumps as a series of screams erupt behind him. He whirls, expecting the worst, heart in his throat. It isn’t to be found. Marginal relief loosens his shoulders as he realizes it’s just a group in the haunted house. Allura, ramrod beside him, eases as she reaches the same conclusion.

“Which way would he come?” Allura asks.

Lance jerks his head toward the woods.

“Alright,” Allura says decisively. “I’ll start at one end of the trees if you start at the other. We’ll meet in the middle.”

“Sounds good.” Lance snaps his fingers and jogs off. He bounces around a couple guests fleeing from the maze and bobs over a styrofoam headstone.

Lance travels past the decorations and goes a decent distance into the forest, watching and listening for a familiar, hulking shape. He walks slowly and deliberately around bramble tangles and tricky twigs. Lips pressed together, he blows out a persuasive whistle and waits.

No telltale sounds of running paws.

No hunter’s eyes glittering in the dark.

Hunk isn’t here.

Allura begins waving him over so Lance hurries her way, mindful not to trip over any roots.

“Is this his?” she asks, holding out a wad of dark fur. “I pulled it off a branch.”

Lance touches it, his fingertips recognizing the slightly coarse texture. “I think so, yeah. Which branch?”

Allura points him to a modest aspen near the beginning of her yard. Lance glances down to find some more fur scattered around. Hunk was definitely here, and he used this tree as a backscratcher. From this point, there’s only a couple directions he could’ve gone in.

“It doesn’t look like he’s back here anymore,” Lance says more calmly than he feels.

“He’s at the party, isn’t he?” Allura asks, similarly casual.

“Uh-huh.”

Their eyes meet and the pretense of serenity is dropped as they both go pelting back through the yard, Allura’s skirt hiked up over her knees. There’s a shape that for a moment seems like it might be Hunk with only minimal light to go by. But it’s just an animatronic gorilla that beats its chest as Lance sets off the sensors.

He skids to a stop and casts another surveying look across the yard. Rhinestone studded skulls. A life-size headless horseman, coat flapping in the wind. No Hunk, but there’s a familiar piece of candy corn making small talk by the fire pit.

She glances up as they head over and so does the vampire she’s talking to. It’s Shay, he identifies after a moment, rocking out a more classic vampiric look, like something you’d see in an old Dracula movie. Ruffly sleeves, black and red paisley vest, long black cape with a high collar. For someone made of rock hard brawn, she looks far more adorable than scary.

“Hey, Pidge, have you seen a _certain_ werewolf?” Allura asks.

“Well, sure,” she snickers, audibly tipsy. “There’s at least five here, one came with a Little Red Riding Hood. Think that was one of your rich friends, Allura. The one with the pet vulture, um…Marla? No, Merla. Merla?”

“We’re not looking for Merla, Pidge, we’re looking for, uh,” Lance shuffles, very conscious of Shay’s presence. “You know. That _other_ werewolf.”

“Why would anyone have a pet vulture anyway?” Pidge goes on, disgruntled and so buzzed she completely misses the point. “Vultures aren’t pets.”

“Okay,” Allura says decisively. “We’ll continue looking ourselves.”

She bustles off and Lance joins her. At any other time, in any other place, it would be impossible to miss Hunk like this. But Allura’s yard is packed from end to the other with elaborately staged decorations, which someone in an apple costume interrupts their search just to compliment her on.

“So much of your stuff looks so realistic!” the apple gushes to Allura. “Especially that werewolf!”

Lance freezes. “What werewolf?”

“The one over there.” The apple points but when they look over, there’s nothing there but some fog rolling between the flock of zombified lawn flamingos. “Huh. I thought it was there." 

Before either of them can reply, a chorus of screams closer to the porch than the pole barn rings out. Lance whirls around and there’s Hunk in plain sight, his large head bent over the mesh wall of the puppy playpen. Partygoers gawk in shock and horror, whipping their phones out and flashing pictures.

“Look, that thing is huge!”

“Is that a real monster!?”

“Oh my god! It’s eating the puppies!”

Lance takes off full speed, panic blowing through his synapses like a windstorm.

Shiro will never forgive him!

Once Hunk changes back, he’ll never forgive himself!

But as Lance gets closer, he sees that Hunk isn’t eating the puppies at all. He’s just grooming them, slurping his tongue over their tubby, clumsy bodies and nibbling out any dirt or grit that might be in their fur. It’s the same thing that he does to Lance’s hair sometimes and while it’s super weird and not exactly enjoyable, it isn’t any kind of predatory behavior either.

Not everyone realizes this. Someone throws a rubber snake at him. It strikes right in the hindquarter and Hunk spooks, jumping back. He sets off the sensors in the animatronic vampire Pidge picked out. It pops right out of its coffin with a harsh, hissing sound effect. And immediately scares the ever loving shit out of Hunk.

Lance can the whites all around his friend’s eyes but he’s still too far to do anything as Hunk bolts in a blind panic, ears pressed flat to his skull. He’s hit with a blast of air as Hunk pelts past him in the opposite direction.

“Wait, H—Buddy! It’s okay!” Lance calls after him, desperate.

But if Hunk hears him, there’s no indication. He just keeps on running, paws enveloped by fog.

Lance stumbles to a stop. He and Allura have been running around all night and even through the adrenaline, it’s starting to take a toll. He also can’t catch up to Hunk, that simply isn’t possible. Allura tries to, striding a few lengths ahead, but the situation is out of their control now.

Hunk bowls over the decorations as he keeps charging through, silicone lagoon monsters and cotton-stuffed evil clowns left trampled in his wake. Bewildered guests dive out of his path, shouting profanities. Most people have noticed now. They’re pulling away from the games and the drinks, turning to get a look or take a pic.

This can’t possibly get any worse.

And two milliseconds later, Lance realizes it can, because, _holy shit,_ Hunk is headed right toward the haunted house!

“No,” he whispers, heart sinking.

Hunk gallops straight into the haunted house, swallowed up by the black curtain draped over the entrance. The screams echoing from inside instantly intensify. There’s a loud crash as Hunk evidently collides with something.

The dismay gets him moving again. As Lance hurries to catch up, he’s suddenly flanked by a stupefied Shiro in a skeleton outfit.

“What happened?”

“Long story,” Lance puffs, “but I gotta get him out of here!”

“How?” Shiro asks, dubious.

“No clue. Ugh, people really need to stop taking pictures!”

“I’ll see what I can do about that.” Shiro backtracks and ahead of them, Allura darts into the haunted house.

Lance’s first thought is to follow her, but he decides better of it. There’s no catching up to Hunk that way. His best bet is to head to the maze, because that’s where Hunk is going to come out. He sucks in a breath and veers directions, legs burning as he pumps them as hard as he can.

He knows Hunk’s made it into the maze when even the scarers come pouring out, Romelle’s brother holding the chainsaw prop high above his head. Ezor doesn’t scare easily and even she’s running for the hills, frantically shoving people out of her escape path.

Hunk bursts free of the maze, not through the exit, but straight through the walls. The pallets collapse, wood splintering through shorn tarpaulin. Hunk may seem like the scariest thing here on the surface, but Lance can see he’s the one who’s terrified. Even as a person Hunk isn’t into the jump scares, but when he’s like this, he doesn’t even understand what’s going on. His tail is tucked between his legs and the hair on the back of his neck is as bristly as the end of a broomstick.

When he sees Lance, he comes loping over. Lance expects Hunk to hide behind him, but evidently he’s too rattled to settle for that. Hunk does something he normally never, ever does. He snatches Lance right off the grass and stands on his hinds, drawing himself up to his full height.

Lance’s face gets squished into Hunk’s chest, and he can hear the panicked velocity of his heartbeat.

“It’s crushing that guy!” someone yells. Lance can’t see who, but no, that isn’t happening at all.

Hunk is ultra freaked out and he’s clinging to Lance the same way Lance used to cling to his teddy bear back when he was a kid. His grip is admittedly tight, but Lance isn’t in any danger.

“Aww, buddy,” he mumbles. “You’re okay. Nothing’s gonna hurt you.”

But Hunk doesn’t stick around to see if that’s true or not. He makes a mad scramble for the woods, running significantly slower than he’d be if he were back on all fours. Lance makes the best of it, tucking his head low so he doesn’t get scratched by tree branches.

Hunk’s hug has his arms pinned to his side. Lance couldn’t reach the clicker in his pocket even if he wanted to, and until they’re away from the prying eyes of Allura’s guests, it’s not a good idea. As is, this is pretty bad. So many people saw him, yelled at him, took his picture.

Hopefully they’ll be able to turn this around. Maybe Allura can pass it off as a Halloween prank that got out of hand, or something. Or like, Pidge can cover it up as some high tech animatronic that had a malfunction. Maybe. A lot of people saw what they thought was Hunk trying to eat puppies. That’s going to be pretty dang hard to explain…

Eventually Hunk makes it far enough away that he feels safe enough to stop. He slows down and puts his nose to the air, sniffing lightly. Lance can feel him shaking, and a strange mix of pity and frustration twists his stomach.

“Think you can put me down?” he asks.

Hunk hugs Lance tighter.

“Okay, so that’s a no.”

Hunk’s ears swivel toward the route they just passed through. After a moment, Lance realizes he can hear footsteps crunching softly over leaves. Crap, they were followed!

“Let’s go,” he whispers with an urgency he hopes Hunk can pick up on, nudging him with his leg.

Hunk doesn’t move a muscle. Lance’s alarm builds, mouth growing dry.

The footsteps grow closer and Lance shuts his eyes, going through metal hoops to formulate an explanation for this.

“Lance?” a familiar voice asks quietly. “Is he hurting you?”

Lance snaps his eyes open to see Allura with a flashlight in hand, going lax with relief.

“No, he’s just hugging me gently.”

“Thank goodness.” Allura switches off the flashlight, presumably so no one else will follow. “Is Hunk okay?”

“He’s not shaking anymore. I think he’ll calm down once he changes back, but I need your help with that.”

“Okay,” Allura agrees. “What do I do?”

“Get the clicker out of my back pocket.”

“Clicker? Like for dogs?”

“Yup.”

“You can’t be serious,” Allura laughs, wearied.

“You’ll see.” In spite of tonight’s catastrophe, he flashes her a smile.

Allura reaches up and in a moment that might be awkward if she weren’t so clinical, pats his butt to determine which pocket has the clicker in it. Her slender fingers snake in and fish it out. Lance hears the concise, metallic click and watches recognition flash through Hunk’s eyes.

He puts Lance down and changes on the spot, reverting back to his much smaller, person shape. Allura pointedly clears her throat and turns around.

“I’m sorry,” are the first words out of Hunk’s mouth. “I didn’t mean to take off, just…instinct took over.”

“I know,” Lance says, sighing. “Did you catch it, at least?”

“No,” Hunk says sheepishly, fingers fidgeting.

“I’m not sure if you ruined my party or improved it,” Allura remarks, back still turned.

“Oh my gosh, Allura, I’m so sorry!” Hunk stands up, vigorously raking his hands through his hair. “I didn’t mean to do any of that, either! I should’ve known to shift back! It’s just hard to explain? I don’t think, like…it’s not thinking, exactly, I—"

“You didn’t hurt anyone?” she asks briskly.

“No,” Hunk promises.

“Then there’s no real harm done,” she assures him, voice softening. “If anything, you gave everyone a thrilling experience. It’s Halloween, most people look to get scared and you certainly provided them." 

“Thanks, Allura.” Hunk relaxes.

“Maybe we should take one of the trails back home,” Lance suggests. “You can’t exactly go back to Allura’s like this.”

“Guess not,” Hunk chuckles, for once in his life actually seeming a little shy about the exposure.

“Excuse me,” comes a quiet call, Shay peeking around a tree trunk a few lengths away. “Sorry, I hope I’m not interrupting or anything.”

Lance startles. “Whoa! How long have you been there?”

“Awhile,” she admits with a guilty wince. “Sorry about that, I wasn’t trying to spy on you or anything. It’s just that, um. I am not exactly sure how to put this.”

Shay steps around the tree and approaches with a small, embarrassed smile on her face. She unclips the plastic broach that secures her cape and as Lance and Allura both gawk, agape, drapes it over Hunk’s shoulders without even blinking.

“Now I know why you’re familiar,” she says fondly. “We shared some venison together last month. Under the moon, remember?”

“Oh!” Hunk gasps, snapping his fingers. “For a second, I even wondered, you know? But it’s not exactly something you can ask!”

“Exactly!” Shay laughs and shakes her head. “I’m so glad we ran into each other again.”

Lance vividly remembers the glistening strand of intestines they devoured together and feels just a little bit like throwing up. Beside him, Allura gives the skirt of her dress a businesslike pat.

“Well,” she says. “I’m glad we’re all getting along, but I better go back before my guests conclude their hostess was eaten by a werewolf. I’d like it if you all would join me. Hunk, I’m sure I can find something for you to wear and I would like the food you promised to make its way out of the car and onto the table.”

With that, they all follow Allura out of the woods in single file.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I snuck a Jeremy Shada line in here. If you watch Adventure Time, you probably caught it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. So, I'm still on hiatus because my life is pretty hectic at the moment. And when I do have time to write, I'm trying to prioritize this one gift fic I'm working on. 
> 
> But then S8 happened. Yeah. Good ol' S8. 
> 
> So here's some lighthearted fluff stuff, where Allura has an overdramatic pillow with fight werewolf!Hunk. You're gonna want to skip if you're not into the fuzzies.

“Hi,” Lance says when Allura answers the back door, a forced smile tacked onto his face and a canvas bag in hand.

Behind him, a massive shape frolics through the snowdrifts in the yard. For a fraction of a second second Allura is alarmed and then she realizes it’s Hunk. Must be that time of the month.

“So I know this is last minute,” Lance rambles nervously. “But I really got to go. My sister just went into early labor and she’s got to have somebody there for her! Her loser boyfriend bailed one her last month. My parents are at the airport, but there’s a layover. Like, it’s a long drive for me, but I still live closer than our other siblings. Can you watch Hunk?”

Allura blinks rapidly, absorbing the deluge of information.

“Normally I’d ask Pidge but, uh, I also need to borrow a car and you have like five, so…”

“What!?”

Lance winces, lips curving sheepishly. “I know I’m really putting you on the spot here, but when it rains it pours. As if this wasn’t crazy enough, my radiator just crapped out on me.”

“Your roommate is a mechanic!” Allura throws her hands up in the air.

“Not tonight he’s not!” Lance wails.

Outside, Hunk marks his territory on the trunk of her favorite apple blossom tree. How lovely.

“I’m sorry I just sprung this on you, Allura, but I really need to go and I didn’t know what else to do.”

Lance bites his lip, limpid eyes seeming to beg her. Allura can tell he’s truly distressed and while this is all very sudden to say the least, she isn’t going to turn him away.

“It’s alright,” she says, placing a hand on his forearm and giving him an encouraging squeeze. “I’ll keep an eye on Hunk and you can take the company car.”

“Really?” Lance brightens hopefully.

“Of course.” Allura sidles over to the key hook and thumbs through them until she finds the right one. She slips it off and holds it out to Lance. “You’re a good brother, you know.”

“I try.” Lance slumps in relief and crams the keys in his pocket. 

“Is there anything in particular I should do with Hunk?”

“Nah, just make sure he doesn’t get into anything.” Lance puts the canvas bag on the counter. “I brought him some clothes for the morning and the spray bottle in case he gives you sass. He’s probably hungry, but if you don’t have anything to feed him, that’s okay 'cause he can just go in the woods and find something for himself.”

“I’m sure I have something for him.” Allura opens the refrigerator and surveys the shelves.

“He’ll eat pretty much anything, but I guess it's obvious meat is best, huh?” Lance slides open the back door and whistles for Hunk. “C’mon, buddy!”

Most of the meat is in the freezer. Allura shuts the fridge and opens the freezer door, doing another visual inventory. She supposes she could break out the slow cooker and do a roast or throw something in the oven. She’s got angus, some individual steaks, and a rather generous holiday ham.

Before she can make up her mind, a thick, furry neck reaches over her shoulder. She lets out a squeak of surprise as Hunk clamps his jaws around the ham. She shifts out of the way so she doesn’t get hit as he jerks it free, knocking some bags of frozen vegetables to the floor. Hunk trots off to the living room and makes himself comfortable on the floor by the couch, sinking his teeth into the meat with no issue at all, though Allura can only imagine it’s hard as a rock.

“Guess he couldn’t wait,” Lance chuckles sheepishly.

“Well that saves me the trouble of cooking, I suppose.” Allura blinks rapidly. “He’s not going to eat the plastic, is he?”

“Uhh…”

As if to answer their question, Hunk pauses. He lifts his head and drags a claw around the circumference of the ham, unzipping the packaging. The plastic falls away and he goes back to chowing down with no issue.

“Guess not.” Lance says, then, to Hunk, "Good job!" 

Eating is still Hunk’s primary focus, but he acknowledges the praise with a brief wag of the tail.

“Any other questions, Allura?”

A lot of them, probably. But this decision is so last minute she can’t actually take the time to sit back and pick through them. It's not like Lance has an abundance of time to spare answering them either, so she just shakes her head.

“I’m all set. I'm sure we’ll get on swimmingly.”

“Okay, then I’d better duck out. Thanks again, Allura!” He flashes her a strained smile and jogs out the back.

Allura watches through the window for a couple minutes, wanting to make sure Lance gets out of the driveway okay. He catches her watching just before he pulls out onto the road, offering a wave. Allura returns it and steps away from the glass.

“I guess it’s just you and me, Hunk.” She looks to the werewolf and starts to make her way over, her mouth falling open in surprise. “You ate that already?”

All that’s left of the ham is the bone. Hunk idly gnaws at it, an ear flicking in response to her gasp.

“If I’d made that for dinner, I’d have leftovers for a week. Though it seems it’s just a snack for you, hm?”

Hunk drops the bone and cocks his head at Allura, looking curious.

“I don’t mind that you ate it,” she adds, although aware she’s mostly just talking to herself. “I have the house to myself for awhile and it’s not like I need a whole ham.”

Hunk stands on all fours and stretches, licking the remains of ham off his muzzle. He studies Allura for a moment and then picks the bone up, bringing it over to her. He drops it into her hands, a long strand of drool snapping off. 

“Oh.” She takes it despite her better judgement, wrinkling her nose at the greasy film of slobber between her fingers. “Thank you.”

If Hunk can sense sarcasm, apparently it doesn’t bother him. He starts snuffle at her hair and then, to what would be Allura’s horror if this creature were anything other than Hunk, opens his jaw. He starts nibbling through the curtain of her thick curls, teeth harmlessly grazing the base of her skull. For a moment Allura is bewildered, then it dawns on her.

“You’re grooming me!” she huffs hotly, giving him a shove. “I just showered this morning! I am perfectly clean, thank you very much.”

Hunk paces back a couple steps. He waits, comes forward again, and Allura raises her voice.

“No!”

She prefers the flowery scent of her shampoo over the scent of werewolf ham breath.

Accepting rejection, Hunk turns tail and pads away. For a heartbeat, Allura worries that she genuinely upset him. But then he’s got his nose to the carpet, ears perked interestedly as he begins to investigate. Hunk’s visited plenty of times as a person, but only twice before like this. She watches, interested herself, as he sniffs around and accustoms himself with his surroundings.

She wonders if that makes it different. Hunk keeps his memories when he’s like this. Lance told her as much and of course, there was the Halloween party. Does that mean he feels just as familiar here now as he would as a person?

“I guess I’ll have to ask in the morning,” she muses aloud.

Hunk flicks an ear and seems particularly invested in a spot on the carpet that she spilled soup on yesterday. She’d washed the stain out, so you can’t tell from appearance. It must still carry some trace of food smell though, because he hasn’t moved on to the next spot yet.

Since he isn’t demonstrating any behavior she feels the need to monitor, Allura decides to clean up. She puts the bone on the table in case Hunk wants it later and puts the plastic he tore off the ham in the recycling bin. She washes her hands and goes to grab a towel, when the peal of a siren sounds in the distance.

Hunk snaps up at its shrill cry, eyes widening. He rises just slightly on his hinds, throwing his head back to howl along with it.

Allura breathes a fond laugh and simply shakes her head. Hopefully the neighbors won’t mind.

The sound of the siren gradually fades away. Allura supposes Hunk can hear it for longer than she does though, because the howling goes on for a bit a longer. When he stops howling, Hunk remains alert. He drops back to his fours and his posture speaks of anticipation, limbs wired and tail stuck out.

“What is it?” Allura peers at him curiously.

Hunk meets her gaze and hops back like a bunny, doing this little prance. Then he breaks into a run, low to the ground and tongue flopping out of his mouth.

Allura knows the zoomies when she sees them. Now when dogs get the zoomies, it’s cute. Shiro’s heart melts every time one of his rescues gets the zoomies, and she can always count on him to send her the videos. She loves watching Bae Bae do it whenever Pidge brings her over.

Maybe she’d find Hunk having the zoomies outside would be cute too. As is, this is a hazard to the safety of her home. He lopes around and everything in the house rattles, the ottoman flipped in his wake. He takes out the couch next, throw pillows soaring into the air, and Allura scrambles forward as his hindquarters knock into the bookcase.

“No!”

The bookcase crashes and Hunk ignores her protest. Allura’s always been known to tackle her problems head on. And the second Hunk’s course diverts toward her great grandmother’s grandfather clock, any and all instruction she received about the spray bottle flees her mind. She does what she is known to do and tackles the issue head on, bodily throwing herself at the werewolf in a last-ditch effort to save the heirloom.

Instead she finds herself along for the ride. Hunk doesn’t stop zooming, he just veers onto a different path to accommodate the new weight on his back. Allura gasps, squeezing her legs together to keep from falling off. She curls her fingers into his mane and straightens to avoid getting hit with the drool flying off his tongue.

She hoped to stop him, but her attempt just seems to excite him more. Hunk swerves directions again and charges upstairs. Allura finds herself powerless to stop his giddy path of destruction. He runs up and down the halls and all she can do is cling tight so she doesn’t fall, pictures quaking in their frames.

In spite of the mess she’s going to have to clean, it’s fun. Hunk is ecstatic, bubbling with a vim that Allura finds contagious. She tucks herself close to him and laughs into his fur, tickled by the absurdity of it all. She feels like a kid taking a ride on a runaway pony.

Hunk zooms around the house in jubilant figure-eight, going downstairs and back up again. He eventually tires himself out and collapses in the middle of the hall, panting heavily. Allura slides off his back and gives his flank a pat.

“Have fun?”

Hunk turns to her, still panting but bright eyed.

Allura gazes around at the multitude of things that need to be picked up or put back.

“Do you make messes everywhere or just here?”

Hunk bumps his nose against her hand and gives it a sloppy lick.

“That’s what I thought you’d say.”

Allura pats him on the head and then makes her way down the hall. She rehangs the displaced pictures. She picks up the fallen cherrywood stands and replaces their décor. A couple long lamps got knocked over too, but luckily none of the bulbs broke.

“I’ll get your help with the bigger messes tomorrow, I suppose,” she mutters.

By no means is Allura a slob, and she certainly prefers things to be tidy. But she isn’t the prissy neat freak people tend to mistake her for either, and she doesn’t mind leaving a mess for one night when there isn’t anyone else here to see it. The bookshelf is going to take two people anyway, because of how heavy and awkwardly shaped it is. Not to mention, putting all the books back…

“I can probably get the couch by myself,” she decides, in between talking to herself and Hunk.

Hunk doesn’t understand her but neither do her pet mice, and they seem to appreciate being spoken to. And Allura likes to talk to herself when the house is quiet. For the past week it’s been too quiet, really. She’ll leave music or the television on in the background, but it isn’t the same as having others around. Even the radio and the television sound like being alone when they’re just there to fill in the silence. So as last minute as it was and as chaotic as a job it’s proving to be, Allura thinks it’s actually nice to have Hunk here with her.

Allura wheels around, intent on getting the couch right side up. She stops short when she realizes Hunk’s gone. The hallway is empty.

So much for having company.

Allura leans over the bannister, giving the downstairs a brief sweep with her eyes. No Hunk in sight. She shuffles back to the end of the hall and pokes her head into the upstairs bathroom. Everything looks pristine, not one ceramic seahorse out of place. No Hunk here.

She checks the first guest room. Bed still made. Closet closed. No Hunk here, either.

Further up the hall comes a loud creaking noise, followed by a thump. The only open door that way is to her father’s room. Allura huffs in dissent and marches over.

Hunk is curled comfortably on the mattress, tail tucked over his nose.

“Off!” Allura commands, pointing to the floor.

Hunk blinks.

“You heard me.” Allura waggles her finger.

Hunk stands up and gives a stretch. He spins around in a few quick circles and then plops right down again.

Allura lets out a groan of exasperation and rubs a hand over her face. Her father will not be pleased to return to a furry comforter. She stomps right up to the edge of the mattress and plants her hands against Hunk’s mass, showing forcefully.

“Get off.”

Hunk gives a nonchalant flick of the ear. Allura grits her teeth and puts more might behind it, rising on the balls of her feet. It’s like trying to push a hairy brick wall. Hunk doesn’t budge. He yawns as if to spite her, jaws stretching wide and every tooth on display.

Allura gives up on this tactic, arms dropping to her sides. “There are seven beds in this house. Seven. And you had to pick this one.”

Hunk rests his head again, eyes closing.

“Oh no, you don’t.”

Manually moving him fell through but Allura has other ideas. She takes a pillow and lifts it high over her head, pounding it down on Hunk’s hindquarter. That gets a reaction. His whole body jerks, eyes snapping open. Allura keeps at it, bringing the pillow up and down, up and down. Goose down shoots out of the pillowcase with every ferocious whack.

“Off, off, off!”

Quick as a flash, Hunk’s jaws clamp down on the pillow. Allura loses the brief round of tug-of-war that ensues, Hunk tearing the pillow out of her hands as he hops off the bed. Instinctively she dives for it and he scrambles out of reach.

He does a little prance with the pillow in his mouth, eyes sparkling. He darts into Allura’s space and then out of it just as quickly, playfully shaking his head. It’s like he’s teasing her.

“Oh? You think this is a game of Keep Away?”

Hunk gets into a play bow, butt waggling in the air as he happily shakes the pillow back and fourth. Some more feathers go flying, but it’s okay. A pillow is replaceable. She accepts the werewolf’s challenge, making another hasty grab for the pillow. Hunk whips it away and escapes into the hall. Allura gives chase.

Hunk pelts downstairs and Allura sprints after, losing a slipper along the way. He careens around the corner and Allura hurls herself forward, attempting a tackle for the second time tonight. Her fingers skim the fluffy tip of his tail as she spills onto the carpet, her first attempt a failure. She hefts herself back up as Hunk slows, peeking at her over his shoulder.

He gives the pillow another shake, seeming to show off. Allura rushes him and he whirls, bounding toward the kitchen. Allura runs in the opposite direction and lunges for the pillow when they meet in the middle. Hunk jolts and rears back back in surprise. Allura jumps and closes her first around the cotton corner. She gives a tug, but Hunk shakes her off and breaks for the living room.

Allura surges forth, unfazed. The fires of determination blaze through her veins. There’s no sweeter taste than the victory and one way or the other, that pillow is going to be hers.

She uses the overturned couch as a boost and flings herself at Hunk, the impact of the collision knocking the pillow from his mouth. She swiftly scrambles forward, hands reaching, but Hunk bowls her out of the way. He snatches the pillow back up and gives it another vigorous shake. He does this little hop, forepaws slapping the carpet as his tail flails in joy. He’s teasing her, she can tell.

Allura can’t match him for speed or power, this much is clear. She either has to trick him or trap him. She takes a moment to catch her breath, debating potential surprise attacks. A knitted throw blanket sits in a tangled heap a few lengths away and it gives her an idea. Sucking her lip between her teeth, she yanks the blanket from the floor and propels forward with a plain in mind.

Hunk dances around her, huffing out a muffled yip. Allura veers and sweeps the blanket around his hind legs, pulling the moment he zips forward. Hunk stumbles and falls to his side. Allura takes her chance and grabs the pillow while he’s stunned, wrenching with a force.

A loud fabric rip cuts through the air and Allura gasps, falling back as the resistance gives way. She lands hard on her butt, amid an explosion of feathers. She finds herself holding onto the tattered half of the pillow, its downy stuffing showering over her.

The other half is still clamped in Hunk’s maw.

A half victory is no victory at all. And as silly as it is to be locked into competition like this, Allura’s already come too far to give up now. Hunk springs back up to his feet, no doubt expecting Allura to pursue. She goes limp instead, flopping over the carpet like a discarded doll.

She listens to Hunk hurry away. Listens to his loping slow as he realizes he’s not being chased.

Eventually he pads back into the living room, floor creaking beneath him. Allura keeps her eyes tightly closed, holding her breath. Sure enough, Hunk starts nosing at her. He nudges against her shoulders, down her torso, the tattered remains of the pillow lightly dragging along.

When nosing her gets no response, he makes a whining sound and swipes her cheek with a lick. The slobbery kiss means he’s dropped the pillow scraps, so Allura opens her eyes and pops back up.

“Aha!” she grabs the unguarded pillow scrap, sodden with his drool, and triumphantly holds it over her head. “I win!”

Hunk doesn’t seem to care much anymore. His ears switch back uncertainly and he noses at Allura some more, up and down and sniffing loudly. It’s as though he’s checking her over.

Oh. That’s exactly what he’s doing.

“Did I worry you?” she winces with a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry. I guess playing dead’s no fair, hm?”

Hunk snuffles along her collarbone, paws gently at her knee.

“I’m fine,” she promises, tossing her arms around his neck. “I got carried away, that’s all. You know I have a competitive spirit.”

Or perhaps he doesn’t know that. In this state, anyway. Allura isn’t sure exactly what kinds of things carry over into his awareness as a canine creature. In any case, the affection seems to settle him. She loosens her arms and Hunk pulls back to slather her face in more icky, faintly ham scented kisses.

“Okay, okay.” She gives him one last affectionate squeeze and gets up, brushing the soft innards of the pillow off her clothes. “I should do at least a little bit of cleanup.”

Allura turns the couch right side up and pushes it back into its normal position. She resets the ottoman and picks up the larger debris she knows the vacuum can’t suck up. Hunk follows her until she actually breaks the vacuum out. Once he sees it, he hastily retreats in the opposite direction, tail tucking between his legs.

For a moment, as Hunk’s head swings and his ears swivel, it appears he’s looking for something. Probably Lance, she realizes. The vacuum frightens him and when he’s frightened, he seeks Lance’s protection. Allura snorts, irresistibly amused. Even so, she decides to put the vacuum away.

There’s no reason to cause Hunk any undue stress. Morning will come soon enough. How late it is only just dawns on Allura when she yawns. There were a couple of things she wanted to get done tonight, but oh well. That can wait until tomorrow too.

Allura goes through her nightly routine, scrubbing her face, brushing her teeth, gathering her hair in a silk wrap. She sets Hunk up in the green guest room because its barer, and there isn’t much for him to destroy. She places the clothes Lance left for him on the bureau and pats the bedspread. Hunk hops onto the mattress and Allura gives him the ham bone in case he gets bored.

“Goodnight,” she hums, giving him a pat on the head.

Hunk wags his tail and then Allura leaves, making sure the door remains ajar behind her. After all, there may come a point where he needs to go outside.

She shuffles to her own room and crawls under the covers, nestling her head into her pillow. The length of the day has officially caught up with her, weighing her eyelids down and prompting her to exhale another quiet yawn. Allura is just beginning to drift off when she hears something heavy hit the floor further down the hall.

A few heartbeats later her door creaks open, Hunk’s hulking shape silhouetted in the dimly lit gap.

Allura barely has time to register his presence when he eagerly trots over and hops onto the bed. Allura squawks out an undignified noise as he steps right on her stomach, knocking the breath from her lungs.

“You beast,” she chokes out, swatting at him.

The weight of his paw leaves but Hunk doesn’t hop down. He turns around in a circle and then flops down on the bed so hard Allura’s surprised the mattress doesn’t bounce off the box spring.

“I gave you perfectly reasonable accommodations,” she sniffs ruefully.

Hunk must interpret this as an invitation to cuddle, because the next thing Allura knows, he’s tucking himself around her, foreleg draping across her torso and cotton candy tail covering over her legs.

“How am I supposed to sleep when you’re taking up so much of the bed?” she protests.

Hunk nudges his head onto her pillow and Allura suddenly becomes aware of how pleasantly warm he is. It reminds her of being a kid, standing outside of the oven while her nana’s cookies baked inside. His warmth beckons her and Allura gives into the temptation to snuggle. She rolls over and nestles into Hunk, languidly hooking a leg over his flank and curling her fingers into his fur.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this was probably too heavy on the saccharine side, but. S8. 
> 
> Now it's back to hiatus for meeee. Except I might come back to face the typos I'm sure are in this. I don't see any right now, but I'm practically asleep at my keyboard and my eyes are blurring. Apologies in advance for the typos!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being Lance is still suffering. 
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Is this my contribution to the Langst fandom.~~

One werewolf is messy. Full Moon Hunk will leave bloody paw prints everywhere if Lance isn’t fast enough to stop him from dragging dead things into the house. Sometimes he even pushes the smaller things under the futon for safe keeping and Lance has to spend the night scrubbing critter guts out of the rug so it doesn’t stink in the morning.

Full Moon Hunk can destroy the yard faster than an army of gophers, leaving a hundred holes to trip in and dirt mounds everywhere. They’re on their fifth coffee table because Hunk’s broken the last four in half. The only plates Lance allows in the kitchen are plastic, because anything less durable is done for when Hunk thunders through the trailer at anything faster than a trot.

One werewolf is messy.

Two werewolves is mayhem.

“Go home, Shay!” Lance commands, pointing sharply at the woods.

Shay shies away at the stern tone, ducking her head low and watching Lance carefully.

“Go! Shoo!” He booms, waving his arm.

He likes Shay, he really does. Average Shay is as sweet as could be. She wears flower crowns in her hair, always asks Lance about his family and coos over pictures of his niece and nephew on his phone. She always has fun facts to spout off about gems or crystals and she’s got good taste in music.

Full Moon Shay is pretty cool too, really. Now that Lance knows her better, he has no problem giving her scratches or pets. He’s glad Hunk has a playmate who can keep up with him.

Most of the time, anyway. Sometimes he just can’t take it.

Two werewolves means two sets of bloody paw prints. Two werewolves means larger dead things and more of them. Two werewolves means two hundred holes in the yard. Full Moon Hunk is rambunctious, for sure. But most of the time, he’s ready to go to bed when Lance is. When Shay’s here, that’s not the case.

Shay gets him extra excited. Whenever Shay arrives, Hunk’s geeked up for hours. They chase each other around like sugar high kids playing tag. They wreak everything in their path rolling around in these enthusiastic wrestling matches. When Hunk stays up later, Lance has to stay up later. He also has to be especially vigilant when Shay is around to be sure Hunk doesn’t follow her too far off.

It’s not Shay’s fault. It’s not Hunk’s either. And sometimes Lance will bite the bullet and deal, but not tonight. The full moon has unfortunately fallen during finals week and studying is going to be difficult enough while he’s babysitting one werewolf. He refuses to babysit two.

“Home!” Lance demands again, vigorously waving.

Shay’s hindquarters tuck lower, eyes glinting nervously. She doesn’t understand what she did wrong. And damn it, she didn’t do anything wrong and it makes him feel guilty for yelling. He’s not trying to be mean. He just really, really needs to study and he can’t do that if they’re both out here, getting each other all riled up and causing chaos.

“Please go home,” he begs, dropping the stern tone because he can’t stand how sad she looks. “Don’t you have someone to watch you? Like how I watch Hunk?”

Hunk, who is currently burying what Lance is pretty sure was a beaver, but it’s so mangled, it could’ve been a groundhog too.

Shay cautiously raises her head. She takes a hesitant backward step, like she thinks Lance might start yelling again. When he doesn’t, she whisks around and lopes over to Hunk’s partly buried kill. She nudges him out of the way and to the chagrin of both Hunk and Lance, rapidly digs it up.

Dirt goes flying. Hunk huffs out an indignant sound, jaws snapping as he makes a grab for it and misses. Shay sinks her teeth into the thing’s crooked neck and happily prances up to Lance, bumping it against his chest.

“No, no,” he says, stepping back. “I don’t want that, thanks anyway.”

Shay curiously tips her head and again bumps it up against Lance, urging him to take it. Its dangling innards wetly slap against his windbreaker, the sharp tang of raw meat assaulting his nostrils. Hunk comes prancing over and huffs again, raising a bit on his hinds as he playfully pushes Shay with his forepaws.

She hops back, neck fur bristling only slightly. For a heartbeat Lance worries she’s getting aggressive, but her tail says otherwise. Hunk dives for the mangled maybe-beaver and Shay darts away, rearing up and prancing around him.

She starts toward Lance again but Hunk lunges and this time, his jaws clamp around the thing’s hindquarters. They each start pulling with muffled grunts of effort. They’re playing tug-of-war with it. Lance hears some kind of bones cracking and pointedly turns around. He doesn’t want to see the moment where the maybe-beaver gets ripped in half. No thank you.

He turns around and shuffles back to the steps, plopping down to sit. He cracks his textbook open and reads beneath the outdoor light. He does his best to memorize, though it is a challenge to concentrate with two werewolves making sloppy, disgusting gobbling noises as they devour their kill.

They finish gobbling and Lance makes it all of three sentences into the review at the end of the chapter when Hunk starts howling. He sends a low, arcane song up to the sky and Shay joins in.

Sigh.

Where did he put his noise-canceling headphones, again?

Oh wait, Hunk ate those too. Chewed them up into bits when Lance was running home late from class, unable to unleash the spray bottle upon him.

He’d promised to get him new ones but had not yet delivered. Lance doesn’t doubt that he will. Hunk is good about keeping promises. He just wishes he’d kept this one sooner.

Lance rubs his temples, waiting out the howling before before resuming the reading. He reminds himself that its not their fault. They can’t control the moon phase. This is just the worst timing ever.

Between the howling and the wrestling, Lance gets in five seconds of uninterrupted reading. Tops.

“You suck,” he gripes, not to either werewolf but to the moon itself, glaring reproachfully at the silvery celestial sphere.

Shay wins again. She usually does. She knows how to knock Hunk over, even though he’s a tad bigger. Now and then Hunk usurps her though. Tonight is not one of those nights and she stands victorious, paw placed over Hunk’s throat. She throws her head back and begins another chorus of howling.

And of course, Hunk wants to join in. He nips at Shay’s paw so she draws back and raises his head enough to harmonize with her.

Lance snaps his book closed and bangs it against his head in frustration.

Shay finishes howling and meanders away from Hunk. She rolls on the ground, wriggling back and forth. Probably scratching an itch, Lance figures. Hunk gets back to his feet and wanders over to see what Lance is up to.

“Trying to pass my classes,” Lance mutters, dropping his chin into his hand. “Think you and your girlfriend could keep the werewolf junk to a minimum?”

Hunk peers at Lance until he realizes he isn’t going to get any pets. His tail stops wagging and he nudges Lance’s hand to as if prompt him, like hey, this is the appendage that’s supposed to be touching me now. But Lance isn’t feeling particularly affectionate. He’s burned out and annoyed, and concerned about the torpedo his GPA may take in the near future.

After a moment of waiting for the pets Lance won’t provide, Hunk leaves in disinterest. At this point, Shay is back up. Hunk’s ears perk and he trots forward, giving her tail a playful nip. Shay yelps in surprise and jumps like a flea.

They’re back to chasing each other in circles, their claws tearing chunks out of the ground even though it’s nearly frozen. There hasn’t been any new snowfall in a few days, but it’s still freezing. The wind chill has a harsh bite that cuts right through Lance’s coat.

Shay breaks the circle. She gleefully flees to the front yard, tail flying like candy floss behind her. And even as Lance calls a sharp protest, Hunk bounds after her.

“Shit!” Lance throws himself off the porch steps, textbook tumbling off his legs.

He turns back for just a second, snatching it up and putting it on the step so the pages don’t get wet. He sucks in a breath and starts running.

“Damn it, Hunk! You know the front yard is off limits!”

Hunk doesn’t turn back. He leaps and bowls Shay over smack dab in the middle of the front, where anybody driving down the road could see. Shay twists under him, making playful yipping noises and scratching with her hind legs like a cat. Hunk rolls off her, legs in the air and snow disturbed beneath him.

Lance whistles for him and is completely ignored. Shay streaks right across the road, swallowed up by the shadows and shrubs on the other side. Hunk springs and zealously pursues, drool spilling in the wind.

Lance hurries after them again, arms pumping. He absently hopes he doesn’t tread on any icy patches invisible in the dark.

After this, they’re going to get a fence. Big, tall fence.

Except there’s not a fence Hunk couldn’t dig under or jump over anyway. And even if he could, Lance wouldn’t do that to him. It’s not fair to deny him the right to be himself, the part of him that comes once a month and needs this. The trees, the space, the scents of nature.

Lance knows he can’t help it, but that doesn’t make his current problem any less or a stressor or a nuisance. Part of him is tempted to just go back to the trailer and study. This selfish part that longs to go inside where it’s warm, curl up on the futon and memorize his material in comfort. Lance swallows and squashes that part down.

For better or worse, he takes responsibility for Full Moon Hunk. That was the deal when they decided to room together. That means he can’t just let him go off anywhere, possibly cause a panic, potentially hurt somebody’s pet or livestock, or wake up somewhere he’s not supposed to be.

Across the road, the ground immediately slopes down, something Lance discovers by tripping. Once moment he’s racing and the next, he’s falling. The world is abruptly yanked out from under him. He rapidly rolls down the short hill. Blue and black shadows blur around him, until he’s deposited in a heap at the bottom.

 _Fence_ , is the first bitter thought that pops into his head.

Werewolf proof fence. Titanium or something.

Groaning, Lance pushes himself up and shakes his head clear.

There is one upside to falling. He made it down the hill faster than he would have otherwise, and now he’s relatively caught up to Hunk and Shay. He can see them, at the least, which is more than he could say five minutes ago. They’re venturing out onto the frozen lake over there, Shay up on her hinds and Hunk’s head low like he’s sniffing at something.

There’s probably a lot to smell, Lance figures. It’s supposed to be private property but sometimes people come to skate. They’re lucky it’s empty right now.

Lance stands up and takes brief stock of himself. He’s not hurt, just winded and sort of startled.

And disgruntled, to say the least.

How is he even going to get Hunk to come back?

Hunk is too interested in what Shay’s doing to bother listening and Lance has no idea how to manage Shay. The spray bottle doesn’t work on her. Hunk hates the spray bottle, sometimes just the sight of it is enough to get him to back down. Shay doesn’t hate it at all. She thinks it’s a game.

Lance pulled the spray bottle on Full Moon Shay the last time she showed up, when she got ahold of his slipper. She took it in stride and snapped at the little squirts, determined to catch them. She was bright eyed, tail wagging. She actually seemed rather disappointed when Lance put it away.

Wait. Shay likes to catch the squirts.

Maybe he could work with that. Fill the squirt bottle with extra spicy hot sauce. Or maybe something else he knows she doesn’t like. Like chocolate syrup. That’s another thing she has in common with Hunk, none of them are chocolate people. Except chocolate might gunk up the nozzle.

Maybe he could get bitter apple spray? That’s what Shiro sprays on stuff he doesn’t want his dogs to get to. Lance likes the way green apples smell anyway.

Lance considers his options as he sets off sprinting. He slows down at the edge of the lake and cups his hands around his mouth.

“C’mon, puppies! Who wants a treat?”

Hunk’s ears perk at the mention of a treat. Shay at least glances over, dropping back to all fours. The motion catches Hunk’s eye and then once again, his attention is refocused. He trots over and gives her a playful push. Shay shoves him with her flank and opens her jaws. Then Hunk’s got his open and they’re dueling again.

As he watches them go at it, it occurs to Lance that they probably shouldn’t be so close together. That’s a lot of mass concentrated in one spot. And they’re pretty close to the middle.

As soon as he completes the thought, a crack cuts through the air. The werewolves startle, jaws unlocking. Lance hears the sharp splintering and the ice breaks like shattering crystal. Two furry body vanish from view. It’s so quick, it’s like watching a magician’s magic trick.

Lance gasps, bolting over. He checks his pace so he doesn’t slip on the ice. Slows to an even milder jog as he reminds himself to watch for cracks. He’s not as heavy as a pair of werewolves, but still.

Hunk’s head pops up in the middle of the water. He paddles around and does not seem particularly perturbed. Well, no, he wouldn’t be. He’s got a nice buoyant layer of blubber.

Shay doesn’t.

Shay is as dense as stone and she sinks like one too.

She madly splashes and flails, scarcely keeping her muzzle above the water. She lets out this horrible frightened whine, wildly fighting to get her paws on solid ice. Lance watches the panic eclipse her sun glow gaze. It’s the last he sees of her before she is submerged.

Lance doesn’t exactly think out diving in after her. It just happens, because she’s scared and she’s sinking, and going to drown. He sucks in a breath and plunges down in the coal black depths.

Lance searches blindly, hands frantically flailing in a desperate hunt for fur. He can’t pull Shay out, this knowledge exists in the back of his mind. She’s too heavy to pull out, but he could keep her head above water. If he could just find her head and lift it up enough to get her some air, then maybe she’ll be okay.

His fingers brush something. The cold is numbing and he can’t feel the difference between fur and frond, but he latches on anyway and pushes up.

Almost as soon as he closes on to what he hopes is Shay, Lance is yanked away. He’s forcibly thrust back to the surface. Bewildered, Lance jerks back to discover Hunk’s teeth in his hood. Before he can so much as process this, Hunk whips his head and releases.

Lance is flung like a slingshot ball and hits solid ice with a thwack. It sounds like it should hurt, but if it does, the pain doesn’t register. Hunk dips back under the water. Silence ensues.

Distantly, Lance realizes he’s shivering. Soaked with ice water, the winter wind strikes him like a spear. But this is a nominal concern in the wake of the silence. When you’re babysitting two werewolves under the full moon, silence shouldn’t even be a fathomable concept.

Is Shay still sinking?

Is she trapped under the ice?

Did Hunk go to get her?

Lance gets to his hands and knees, crawling toward the edge and entertaining the idea of diving back in. Hunk better have went to get her. Lance swears if he comes back up with a fish in his mouth, he’s going to kill him.

Another heartbeat of silence. Lance braces himself to greet the vicious cold and pitch black when dives back in. He’s a breath away from the plunge when Hunk bursts out of the water like a humpback whale, Shay’s scruff in his mouth.

She coughs out some water as Hunk paddles, eyes wide and ears firmly back. Hunk swims her to the edge of the ice. She desperately paws at it, claws scrabbling as she tries to find purchase. Hunk lets go of her scruff and pushes her hinds up with his forepaws, giving her the extra boost.

Shay clumsily clambers over the ice. For a moment Lance thinks she’s going to stumble, but she recovers herself. She vigorously shakes her pelt out. Frigid droplets go flying and Lance makes a face as he’s showered with them, but doesn’t have the heart to truly mind.

“You okay?” he asks, unable to keep his teeth from chattering.

Shay swivels her head, blinking at him. Lance isn’t as good at reading Shay as he is Hunk, but he can see the anxiety in her posture and ruffled fur.

It’s freezing out here and Lance fights the urge to hug himself, opening his arms instead. Shay hurries into the affection like she needs the reassurance, crouching low and sliding her big head over Lance’s shoulder. He gives her a gentle hug and takes some comfort in the surprising warmth that radiates from her body.

“I know, I know. That was scary, huh?”

Shay gives a soft whimper and sits, hooking a paw over Lance’s other shoulder and pulling him in. Lance exhales, soaking in her body heat as he gives her an affectionate rubdown. She must shake really well, because her fur is already mostly dry. Doesn’t mean she’s not freaked out though.

Better to get her out of here, back to the trailer where he can soothe her with a treat or one of Hunk’s toys. Better to get back there for his own sake too, Lance doesn’t have water repellant fur. He’s still drenched and freezing.

“Okay,” he says softly, worming his way out of Shay’s hold. “Let’s go b— damn it. Hunk, where’d you go?”

His question is answered as a dark shape springs fourth from the depths. Hunk pounds his paws against the ice sheet, proudly showing off the fish in his mouth. It’s still alive, scales flashing in the moonlight as it thrashes up and down.

“Drop it!” Lance demands in the sternest octave he can manage between chattering teeth.

Hunk’s jaw goes slack and the fish plops back into the water with a soft splash.

“Home!” he orders next.

Hunk paddles over to the opposite ice sheet and hefts himself up with ease. He shakes his pelt out and bounds back toward the land.

“Now he listens to me,” Lance grumbles, rolling his eyes.

Shay watches after Hunk and gets to her paws. She heads back toward land more slowly, working at a brisk trot. Lance supposes she’s wary after everything that just happened. She moves like she’s nervous at the least, ducked low, stepping lightly.

Lance trudges along, watching his breath fog in front of him. Now that the danger has passed, his mind wanders back to studying. He isn’t going to get any done tonight. And he doesn’t feel irritated about it anymore. Just tired. Very tired.

Lance realizes he can’t feel his toes just before he trips. He lands hard on his hands, palms prickling uncomfortably.

“Why,” he groans to no one in particular.

Up ahead, Shay halts. She glances back over her shoulder, peering at Lance uncertainly.

“I’m good,” he says, though he has no one way of knowing if she’s actually concerned about his wellbeing or simply responding to the noise. “Just gimme a sec to get up.”

Lance rolls over onto his bottom and means to get his legs under him. It doesn’t exactly happen. He’s trying, but he’s exhausted and half frozen. His resulting movements are more like that of a discombobulated crab and they don’t accomplish much.

Shay prances over to see what’s taking so long. Lance feels the light bump of her muzzle against his head. She bites into his hood with no abandon, dragging him backward. For a second he tenses, readies to pull away. But she’s dragging him faster than he could walk and at this point, he just wants to go home.

“This works.”

Being dragged doesn’t hurt. Shay isn’t so vigorous that Lance gets knocked over, he just slides along on his butt. It’s kind of like being pulled on a sled without the sled. Eh, maybe his butt would hurt if it wasn’t so numb. But probably not. The ice is smooth and Shay handles him with relative care. She swerves out of the way of the one obstruction in the ice, a protruding stick, so she at least realizes he doesn’t want to smash into anything.  
  
Hunk is waiting for them on the land. Shay lets go of Lance’s hood and he bows his head, snuffling inquisitively. He slurps his tongue across Lance’s cheek and makes a soft, whining sound.

“What?” Lance asks. “You bumming cause I made you put the fish back?”

Hunk keeps licking him and for once, Lance wholeheartedly embraces the slobber on his face because of its warmth. Then he moves down, continually nudging with his broad head, like he’s impelling Lance to get up.

“Okay, okay. At least help me.”

He wraps an arm around Hunk’s neck for support, getting up as Hunk raises his head. And then, because Hunk is warm and fluffy and werewolves are faster transportation, he swings a leg over and awkwardly clambers on top. Hunk doesn’t mind. It won’t be the first time Lance has made himself comfortable between his haunches.

“Home,” he reminds Hunk as he tucks his fingers into his fur.

Hunk sets off, thankfully not so fast as to unbalance Lance. He hangs on and nuzzles his face into Hunk’s mane.

Mm, toasty.

Hunk’s body heat helps him thaw. By the time the trailer is in view, Lance can feel most of his appendages. He still can’t wait to plug the space heater in. He’d take a warm shower if it didn’t have two beasts to babysit, but since he does, he’ll settle for a hot water bottle and a big blanket.

Hunk heads around to the back. Lance sits and shifts around, sliding down his flank. He tucks his textbook under his arm and heads up the steps, holding the door open. He gives a whistle and they both scramble inside.

“Please don’t destroy anything,” he humbly begs.

Hunk blinks up at him, jaws stretching in a yawn. He pads down the hall and turns into his room. A moment later the springs in the mattress squeak, and Lance figures he’s tuckered out after the adventure. Shay ambles after him and Lance immediately realizes his request will not be heeded.

He heads to his own and strips down to the violent background clamor of splintering wood as the weight of two werewolves demolishes yet another thing tonight. As he changes into dry clothes, surprised yipes accompany the hefty crash of an encore. The shockwave of Hunk’s box spring and mattress atop it collapsing rumbles all through the household. Several of the oddities on Lance’s dresser topple.

Lance pulls the comforter off his bed and bundles it around his shoulders, peeking into Hunk’s room just to make sure they’re okay. And they are. They’re both squished together on the fallen mattress, the slivers and fragments of Hunk’s bed frame scattered around the room. Hunk won’t be happy in the morning, but for the moment, he seems content. Shay’s the one whose bug-eyed, ears back. Hunk calmly laps at her ruffled fur.

“Told you you should’ve got a metal frame,” Lance sighs, shuffling away.

* * *

In the morning, Lance is already into his third cup of coffee and his second round of flashcards when Shay tiptoes around the corner, obviously making an effort to be quiet. She’s in one of Hunk’s hoodies and a pair of his khakis, hair askew in a mussy bedhead.

She stops short when she sees Lance is up, freezing like a deer in the headlights. Lance cracks a small smile in an effort to put her at ease, leaning back in the futon.

“Morning.”

The tension melts from Shay’s shoulders, a tentative smile of her own unfurling. She quickly weaves her way into the living room and abruptly traps Lance in a bone crushing hug, picking him up from the futon.

“Oh, h-hey. What’s this for?”

“What do you think?” she gasps. “You jumped in after me! Thank you!”

Lance squirms and gives her a gentle pat on the back. “You’re welcome, but uh, I like oxygen, Shay.”

“Right, sorry,” she trills nervously, returning him to the futon. She shakes her head out and combs some of her hair down with her fingers.

“So, are you okay? After last night and everything?”

“Yeah,” she says softly, fiddling with the strings on Hunk’s hood. “I think I am. Thank you, again.”

Lance shrugs. “I didn’t actually pull you out.”

“Well, no, you couldn’t have. Not that I’m not grateful, but jumping in was…” Shay trails off, glancing to the floor.

“Stupid?” Lance guesses.

“I do not wish to upset you, but maybe just a little,” she agrees with a wince. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It wasn’t exactly my most brilliant plan ever.” Lance idly bounces his leg. “I lifeguard over the summer. Maybe the reflex just kicked in?”

“A little like instinct,” Shay offers, smiling softly.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Lance smiles a bit himself but lets it fade as he considers something, sitting up a bit straighter. “You mind if I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Look, it’s totally cool that you come over and I’m not trying to make you feel unwelcome or anything, but since we’re already talking about last night, I’ve gotta ask. Don’t you have someone to keep an eye on you when you shift? To make sure you don’t get in trouble, or lost?”

Shay shakes her head. “Back home but not here. To be honest, my family was really worried about that. They almost wouldn’t let me move. And I thought I could handle it myself, but I always break loose.”

“Break loose?” Lance repeats, brows lifting.

Shay nods, shyly looking to the floor. “I lock myself in the basement at work. Nobody’s there and there’s some sturdy stuff to play with— it’s a rec center, after all. So I thought it would work…but I always get out one way or the other.”

“Oh.”

Shay gnaws at her lip, absently twirling a hood string around her finger.

There’s an awkward beat of silent interrupted by the soft creak of Hunk’s door swinging open. His friend takes two steps into the hall and Lance doesn’t bother to look before he calls out a warning.

“Go put some clothes on!”

“But—“

“Clothes!”

Hunk grumbles something or other, but his retreat is punctuated by the dutiful snap of a shut door. Shay chuckles and seems to relax a bit.

“You can sit down, you know.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt you.” She looks to the flashcards spread across the coffee table.

Lance waves a hand and pats the empty spot on the futon. Shay sidles over and takes a seat, hands in her lap. Hunk emerges once more, plodding down the hall, thankfully clothed, with his arms stretched up over his head.

“So I got to get a new bed frame.”

“Don’t wanna say I told you so, but—“

“Yeah, okay. I’ll get a metal one this time.” Hunk gives himself a shake. “You wanna help me pick one out, Shay?”

“Sure.”

“You’re not going anywhere yet,” Lance tells him.

“Why not?”

“Because I almost froze to death, so you owe me hash browns.”

Hunk pauses, blinking slowly. “I figured you’d want space to study…”

“Yeah, but food first.”

“Fair enough.” He backtracks into the kitchen and starts rustling around.

Shay leans over, taking a peek at his open book. “You know, I took that class too. I’m sure not all the material we covered was identical, but most of it should be pretty close. I could help?”

“Cool,” Lance smiles a bit. “I could use it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still on hiatus! This was just already halfway done (started before the last one, actually, only threw that together because S8 was...many things) so I decided to finish for Hunk's birthday.
> 
> Back to hiatus and the priority of a gift fic and whatever my Femslash February mess is going to be.


End file.
